Grey Clouds Loomed
by Shadenight123
Summary: The World of Darkness grips tightly onto the Vampire Harry Potter, who forced by a life debt owed has to protect his sister, the Girl-Who-Lived, from the clutches of the Triwizard tournament and Voldemort. Older Harry and Canon-Cast, Hufflepuff Harry, Independent and Grey. The World of Darkness New and Old are interpreted within.
1. Grey Clouds Loomed

Grey clouds loomed. Rain fell against the polished windows of the loft. The water droplets ticked against the glass. A blinding flash turned the world white for a second. A figure, clutching a small parcel with his left hand, walked beneath the storm. Tightening the grip on the trench-coat with his free hand, the tall man trudged on. Cars honked near him, stilled in the traffic. Vapours emitted by the gutters on the sidewalk rose delivering nauseous stenches.

The man frowned. His eyes narrowed, trying to look through the sleet of the late august night in New York City. The bakery was next to the post office, but his stop was further down the road. He should have taken the metro, but he hated being constricted in dark and underground spots.

It reminded him of his past.

The wind subtly filtered through the cracks in his leather armour against the rain and the cold. He grumbled against the breeze as his destination finally came into view. It was a three floors brick building with a slanted roof. The first floor held a large glass panel that showed the inside, and the people within eating. The neon sign atop the door displayed the name of the place to all those around.

_Chez 'Arry._

He smiled at the dyslexic scrawl in bright pink colour. It was one of the reasons he kept it like that. He had asked one of his friends to put it up, and he was glad for it. He fondly remembered the half-giant, and how he had emptied his whiskey and bourbon reserves.

His hand grasped at the bronze handle of the entrance, pushing it down as he stepped forward. A soft green carpet met his wet leather shoes, and as the water of the storm poured down his gym trousers, he came eye to eye with the maître of the restaurant. The man with tidy grey hair frowned at him, but said nothing as the blue eyes seemed transfixed on the parcel.

He gingerly smiled back, plucking from his parcel a bottle of red wine. A Lambrusco produced in Nineteen-Ninety One made its way to the hands of the maître, who grasped it as if he was holding a new-born infant.

"_Merveilleux_." The man whispered in awe. "The Chef will be pleased." The soft tone was barely heard in the dimly lit restaurant. The sounds of silverware cutting, plucking or generally piercing the food came easier to hear, just like the low-spoken voices of the patrons of the high-class diner. Passing next to the neatly trimmed hedge that reached the knee-length of the man, one could see a set of small four person tables neatly arranged throughout an ample saloon.

Twin doors with small round windows would be at the far end, leading towards the kitchen and the reign of the mighty chef of the restaurant. To the right side of the restaurant a lounge bar and a piano were perfectly imitating the ballrooms' furniture of the late fifties. The man with green eyes and seemingly wild black hair handed over his trench-coat to the maître, before taking the wine bottle back and heading towards the kitchen.

He smiled as he walked through the restaurant, many of the dining men and women turning their heads to look at him before smiling softly and waving at him.

"Sir." A waiter acknowledged him as he went by, and he nodded back.

"The _Upper_ maître said a VIP has recently arrived and is waiting for you in the loft."

"Thank you." He said. His gaze went to the far off corner, and he was glad for its emptiness. There was a single red rose on a white porcelain vase there. There had been two the night before. He knew what it meant, but it still didn't answer who the very important person was.

He passed through the kitchens, ignoring the flames that came from the corner of the white tiled area. The staff members were working themselves raw, orders being yelled and promptly executed as people flew from one side of the kitchen to the other. He quickly made his way to the door that would lead him to the staircase.

The staircase was of red wood, _Sequoia_. Even there, the soft green carpet continued both upstairs and downwards, where the cellars were. His destination the loft, he slowly walked up to the second floor. The changing rooms of the staff and the recreational area were closed on working days, but there was an open door policy during the free hours that family could come over and have fun in the room if they so wished.

He knew he shouldn't spoil his staff rotten, but all of them earned it by working hard, and he had well enough revenue from the business that it didn't matter if he left the power on during weekends. The third floor housed his private quarters, but instead of opening the code-secured door of steel he simply turned once more on the spiral staircase and pulled the strap on the ceiling.

A wooden staircase came down gently, the well-oiled hinges preventing any noise from happening.

He took a deep breath, and then began to climb.

In the loft, candles lit a fairly taller ceiling than what could be seen from outside. The miracle of expansion charms wasn't lost on him every time he saw it, especially when the floo fire pit roared to life to admit a wizard couple. The maître of the 'other side' of the restaurant was a woman with bright purple eyes and dark red hair. She smiled at the couple and gestured towards a seat near one of the disillusioned windows that gave on the outside.

A security troll dressed in a tuxedo was holding his mace menacingly near the poker tables, separated by a red glass panel. Silencing charms and air refreshing ones made it so that the casino side of the area did not spill fumes or noises on the more family wise side.

Barnabus the troll was there to make sure nothing else spilled except for the money.

The maître looked at him and then settled her gaze towards the table at the far end of the loft. He turned around and then narrowed his eyes. He was starting to regret the philosophy of his restaurant. _Abandon no-one who asks for shelter._

Hermione would probably call it his usual 'saving people thing' and 'sticking his neck where he shouldn't'.

He walked quickly towards the free seat, gently moving the wood chair aside and then sitting down quietly. He crossed his arms over his chest and brought up an eyebrow.

"To what does my humble establishment own the honour of your visit, Professor Dumbledore?"

His voice was neutral, but his muscles tensed.

"There will be no need for a physical confrontation, Mister Potter. I am merely here to talk with you." Albus Dumbledore was wearing a strangely sombre black muggle suit. "A complication has ensued, one that—"

"Get to the point, Dumbledore." He muttered. "Is this about Hermione?"

"Not directly, but—"

"Then I fail to see why it should matter to me." He replied with a scoff, "I am dead to the eyes of the Wizardry world, isn't it right?" He smiled then, displaying two pointy teeth.

"Vampires don't get rights the same way as Wizards do, they don't get the magic and they are considered mindless beasts just like rabid dogs. So I don't understand what you might want from me. I'm nothing but a corpse walking around, right?"

Albus closed his eyes. His fingers tapping one another as the man finally gathered the courage to speak.

"Your parents died last week." The old wizard opened his icy blue eyes to stare at the green and uncaring ones of Harry, who seemed unfazed by the news.

"They've been dead to me for a long time." The vampire replied bitterly, moving to stand. "If there isn't anything else—"

"Your sister," Albus brought up his right hand, gesturing for him to sit again. "She has no family left except for you."

"My mother's side should have an aunt to her. I remember she spoke of her once."

"Ah, yes." The bearded wizard nodded. "Madam Dursley has a child and does not like the magical world."

The silence that slowly descended between the two was short of deafening. Albus was starting to think against the idea. The old wizard had expected tears, or at least some form of moral understanding in taking care of one's own relative. He hadn't expected a strange coolness to settle between the two.

"If I were to accept, would I need to provide lodging and food?"

"That won't be needed. Grimmauld Place is—"

"I will not go to London." He retorted. "I will not submit myself to the farce that is the British Ministry."

"Your sister will certainly need to finish her schooling at Hogwarts. Certainly you—"

"Do you know why I keep interrupting you?" He snapped in a low hiss, "Because you're unworthy of the laws of the etiquette." He smiled. "It's a meaningless thing, I know. Just like when they take your wand and snap it just because you were _unlucky_, and a vampire sucked you dry."

"Mister Potter, I have not come here to be ridiculed. This is a serious matter."

"Have _Sirius_ Black do it then: oh right, he's in Azkaban isn't he? He didn't make it that far with his escape attempt."

"I thought time would soothe your wounds." Albus murmured. "It appears I was wrong."

"Yes, it appears you are working with a lot of misconceptions." One of the waiters soon arrived, a poltergeist from an old Victorian mansion, and delivered a goblet of blood to him. He drank the crimson liquid without as much as a wince, its viscosity now something he had grown accustomed to.

The silence stretched again, uncomfortably, for a few more minutes.

"There is a Life Debt to be repaid, Harry." Dumbledore finally sighed.

Harry tensed and narrowed his eyes, the green fading to leave place to the crimson red so typical of a feral vampire.

"You _dare_ call me with such... familiarity." He snarled, his right hand clenching around the bronze chalice to the point where it deformed, leaving the imprints of Harry's fingers on it.

"This year things will be especially grave." The Headmaster added. "There is the Tri-Wizard tournament to be hosted at Hogwarts."

"And so?" He shook his head. "If you want me, then have whom I owe the debt to come over and ask, _in the proper form_, for me to pay it back."

He didn't say he doubted Dumbledore would get out of the States. He'd rather owe a Life Debt to one of the Elders than ever having to do with the man again. He had thought himself above the hate, but now with the beast clawing at his innards and demanding release…

"Severus has given the Life Debt to me," Dumbledore began again, slowly taking out from one of his sleeves a thick parchment. "You will find it written in the proper form."

He narrowed his eyes, before grasping the parchment and opening it. His lips thinned in barely controlled anger. "What are the terms?"

"There is a need for a professor in Ghoul Studies." Harry snorted at that, closing the parchment. He was about to place it within the folds of his pockets when Dumbledore's hand came up, with the man smiling back at him. Rolling his eyes he handed the parchment over.

"I ask you to protect your sister, Lillian Potter, until the Dark Lord lies defeated. You will inhabit Grimmauld Place during the festivities, to get to know your sister better. You will enter Hogwarts as a professor and keep a silent eye on her. When possible, I ask you stir her towards the Light."

"Ironic to ask that of a vampire, a foul spawn, a —what was the word you used to get me kicked out of the house?"

"A dangerous night creature," the old wizard whispered. "And at the time it was true, Har—"

His fist hit the table with strength, the sound echoing through the room and gathering the attention of all the diners.

"Do not call me with such familiarity! I am not your friend, Dumbledore."

"I am sorry." The murmur earned the Headmaster of Hogwarts only a bewildered stare.

"Sorry? Oh—" He stood up quickly, "Pardon me, didn't know all that was needed was a _sorry_ to set things right." He clenched his fists, driving his gaze upon the old wizard. "I will pay back my Life Debt, Dumbledore." He smiled, "But you just don't know the hell you will bring to Great Britain in exchange for that."

He signalled to the maître to move closer, and snapped.

"Serve the sir quickly. He has an urgent appointment elsewhere."

Then he curtly left, ignoring the wizard was calmly ordering from his menu without a care in the world.

He managed to get into his room, inserting his twenty-three digit code before closing the door behind him, before the beast reeled its ugly head upwards and began to scream. It roared and its deafening screams of blood and war fought against the chains of his humanity, rattling the cage that was his human weak body. The vampire demanded exit. He would not give it to him.

He groggily blinked his eyes open what seemed like a few minutes later. His room was now a veritable mess of torn furniture, broken wooden splinters that once belonged to a desk and his training tools were now completely bent. Whoever said that an undead didn't need to exercise was wrong.

He looked up at his immaculate white ceiling, the neon lights softly illuminating the room. He stood up, his feet taking him to where his bedroom was in his private quarters, and with a look at the digital clock on the side of his black velvet covered bed, he sighed. His right hand, curled in a fist, impacted against the concrete wall. No blood came out and no bones broke, but the feeling of hitting something was still there, lodged into him.

This wouldn't do.

He couldn't show anger tonight. There had been one rose the night before, which meant that tonight was the night. The night he met with the new Elder of New York.

He opened up the drawer and the dresser, taking out one of his best attires. His gaze lingered for a brief second to the gold and black tie of Hufflepuff, next to what once had been his student's robe. He had packed that in a hurry during _that_ night. He shuffled on his feet towards the bathroom, he gently slid the marriage ring out of his hand and into the cup on the side of the marble sink. If there was one thing he never understood, was why the Elders enjoyed building opulent bathrooms when they never had to use them.

He turned the water on, and as the droplets fell on his naked body his left hand went by instinct to his neck. The twin holes, clear sign of a vampire bite, stood as a permanent reminder of what he had suffered through on that dreadful night of the Thirty-One of October.

_Never again._ He thought, as he let the water pass through his unruly black hair. He didn't sweat, but grime and dust collected all the same on his body just like smog. His skin didn't breathe, if that was the word the dermatologists said, and so taking a shower was needed all the same. He didn't have a sense of smell, which was a pity, but he thankfully showered every day.

He closed the water off, it didn't even matter that it was icy cold or scorching hot to him. Unless it was fire he simply didn't feel it.

He dressed in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection as he tied his tie expertly. For a moment he remembered another pair of hands doing the motion for him, giggling about his inability to do such a simple action. He gritted his teeth at the memory. Those times were gone.

He doubted he'd see the woman again.

He made his way downstairs, and as he passed through the kitchen his gaze went to the corner. There was no red rose there that night, instead there was a burly and bald man wearing one of those horrendously cliché leather coats of the fifties. He had two golden rings in his right hand and a blood-red tie on his dark grey suit. It seemed as if he had a golden pocket watch within the front pocket of his jacket, if the golden chain was of any indication.

He knew better: that was a rosary.

He smiled and calmed his inner turmoil, before slowly sliding down in front of the man. He subtly bowed his head, and was rewarded when the other man spoke in a low whisper.

"Henry Herbert, neonate of Clan Ventrue, birthed from Thomas North."

He straightened his back and smiled. The new guy was of the Lancea Sanctum probably. He was still smiling, but for how long?

"Harry Potter, neonate of Clan Giovanni, birthed from Dunsirn." He narrowed his eyes, "You are new. I was expecting Elder North."

If the Ventrue was surprised, he didn't show it. He merely nodded and embarrassedly held his gaze downwards.

"Cut the act." Harry muttered, "I'm not talking to a boy-scout: I know you're Lancea. What's up with North? Why isn't he here? Wasn't he approved by the Prince?"

"He did reach Elderhood." The other neonate replied calmly. He didn't refute, but his features notably steeled themselves. "He was killed a few days later, you have my condolence."

Harry brought up an eyebrow, before slowly shaking his head. "If you're thinking I _care_." There was silence for a moment, "What do the Ventrue wish?"

"Permission to pass through Little Italy, usage of the docks for a few days and…they would like access to the blood dolls in the areas."

"And what do they offer for this?" He replied, putting up his best bored act.

"Five hundred thousand immediately," the kindred said, "ten hundred thousand upon completion."

"You," Harry's elbows touched the table, as his hands clasped together, "Are telling me," his thumbs pointed towards his person, "That your clan would pay fifteen billions?"

"Yes." The other vampire nodded. "I can bring the offer up to twenty-two."

"All right shit stain." Harry whispered and smirked at the sight of the other kindred holding his beast in check across the table, "_What_ is so important?"

"The price is for ignorance too." The other Ventrue whispered back as he gritted his teeth and held the sides of the table to control his beast.

"Well that's the problem." Harry replied, "The problem with the big T, you know? I can't have you bring stuff through Giovanni territory without knowing what it is, _capiscite_?"

"It is nothing that would harm the Giovanni." Henry said calmly, probably having reined in his beast. "Yet we cannot have it foretold."

"You know, as funny as this is we won't be getting anywhere tonight, and since you know the rules I hope you understand that wasting my time is not smart..." His voice trailed off, before his back suddenly stiffened. The kindred in front of him did so too, before slowly standing up and leaving. He couldn't fault the kindred. He would have run too, had the scourge been in front of him.

He did have the scourge behind him though: that didn't bode well at all, but thankfully opening hour was still half an hour away.

"Harry Potter."

"What does the Paper Doll of Prince Nicole de Lancrét wish of me?" He commented, without turning around. He recognized the voice, and he was betting on frilly and laced pink for the night. The moods of the 'princess' Nicole were renowned throughout the world, and the way her enforcers were dressed too.

"You insufferable Englishman," the voice growled before taking another step forward. "The Prince wishes to know why a Wizard was seen talking to you. You have not infringed the Masquerade, I hope."

"Of course I have told the man _everything_ about us, Azrael." He turned his gaze sideways, winked at him and smiled. "Ah, the beauty of coming out clean, don't you think it's—" And then he was lifted up by two powerful arms, and brought into straight contact with the Nosferatu's deformed and rotten face, morphed into a fearsome scowl.

"Pathetic excuse of a flea," the Nosferatu hissed, "Maybe I should ask the Prince if she desires a toy-mate. The last one did _break_."

"You wound me, Azrael." Harry mock pouted. "Right here…Well, I'd point at my heart but you _are_ keeping me from doing it."

Harry was dropped on the ground a moment later, before the Nosferatu turned his gaze towards the door scowling. His face suddenly morphed, and the Giovanni hissed in frustration.

He hated that face. He hated it worse than the real one of the Nosferatu.

Nymphadora looked at him with a most impassive look. He wondered why out of all the faces that was the one he had to see. It probably was Azrael's subconscious that showed him that face every time. The other vampire had no clue about it, but was probably just channelling whatever would best avoid confrontation. Only with him, he was the exception.

To the maître, Azrael probably looked like one of those high-class blood dolls he usually brought around when he had to feed: someone not to bother with.

"Mark my words." The Nosferatu hissed. "The Prince sees all."

Then the man or woman, he had never known, turned and left. He was wearing the most horrendous peach coloured frilly dress in the history of humanity, with an open back to boot and high black stiletto heels. Sometimes Harry wondered if the Nosferatu was simply taking out his aggressiveness on him.

"François." The maître of the lower floor turned at being called, making his way to him as he just finished settling himself. "I'll be out for the night until late probably. Put five roses on the vase here, all right?"

The maître merely nodded, before heading off to do his duties as the rest of the staff would slowly trickle in with time.

Harry instead left through the door, after grabbing his trench-coat and a scarf to cover his face. He'd have to take the metro.

He hated taking the metro.

When many thought of the Giovanni, they thought of Augustus. The merchant bought his way into Kindredhood, outsmarted the antediluvian who sired him and then consumed him. When many truly thought of the Giovanni…

They shuddered and looked elsewhere.

The ministry of magic knew next to nothing of the Kindreds. It had been that way for centuries and it would remain that way forever. What they knew of were barely the werewolves and the Dunsirn outcasts. The fables on vampires forced to bite down on the necks of others every single night, of consuming blood and killing their victims, that all came from the Dunsirn.

Cannibalistic inbred bastards that lived in Scotland and in Great Britain. The ministry didn't know that vampires could be any different _because_ the other vampires brought the masquerade up with them too. The pale wizard was just that, pale. The potion master worked at night or by home. The news writer delivered his pieces through owl post.

He hadn't been that lucky.

Sometimes a vampire slipped however. There were many vampires who had been warranted for great deeds of writing and composing, but when you have nothing to do all day, what else is there?

It was another lie that vampires had to sleep during the day. Of course if you didn't sleep time passed slowly, but if you slept then you didn't wake up at all until night settled in again.

He didn't know what he preferred: spending the entire day moping in his windowless private quarters or sleeping through it until the next night.

What he knew however didn't matter.

He was going back to Britain. He had a Life Debt to answer to and he knew nobody would stop him from doing that. If he was killed after all, the debt would be passed down to the killer. It was the insurance. Every Kindred was after all precious and important as a resource to the Camarilla.

He just hoped Francis Milliner would understand.

**Author's notes**

**I realized something after 'scourging' through the Wiki of HP. There is not much on vampires, and what is there is contradictory.**

**No, I'm not joking. They are considered creatures who 'are' forced to bite and drink blood to survive, 'but' there are cards of them depicting them as studious and poets. So either they have wit or they don't. If they have wits, then their bite can't automatically transform another in a vampire (They'd have to feed, wouldn't they?) But then I understood something else: Slughorn gave Sanguini a pastry.**

**Meaningless it is not.**

**Vampires in HP can eat, drink and do whatever, but during the night (every night) they have the impulse to feed like werewolves. During the day they sleep or try and stay awake and eat something. **

**That clearly didn't end well, because in my mind it always ended up with vampires overpowering the human world (If you bite AND turn, it's exponential, and if it started with Vlad in whatever age…)**

**So I decided on a nice, comfy spin-off in an attempt to do two things: get my mind off the plot bunnies raking my head by presenting a resentful, ex-Hufflepuff, grown up and independent Harry, an ex Nymphadora-Harry relation (Since he's older than canon) dead parents but sister-who-lived.**

**And get a better idea of what Vampires do in HP verse, which brought up the Dunsirn. So I turned my gaze to the World of Darkness and the New World of Darkness and grasped them both.**

**The end of the line product is 'Grey Clouds Loomed'.**

**To explain the time-tables:**

**Canon-Harry is replaced by GWL.**

**1973= Harry is born.**

**1977= Hermione and rest-of-canon cast is born.**

**1980= GWL is born on July 31-st. **

**1984= HP goes to Hogwarts. (First Year) Sorted into Hufflepuff.**

**1988= Canon Cast goes to Hogwarts (first year)**

**1991= GWL starts Hogwarts at first year. Harry Graduates Hogwarts in June. Canon-cast is in fourth year.**

**1992= 2° year for GWL. Harry is bitten.**

**1993= 3° year for GWL. Sirius escapes and is recaptured.**

**1994= Tri-wizard Tournament. Harry is Twenty-one. Canon Cast is in Seventh Year. GWL starts 4 year.**


	2. The Wind Spinned the Clouds

Grey clouds loomed. The sensation of being tugged by the navel and carried throughout the world in less than a second made him wince. He did not feel nauseous, but he had nothing in his stomach to actually be nauseous about. He landed with grace, such an extraordinary circumstance, just outside the gates of Hogwarts. Milliner had actually been kind enough to let him go with little fuss. After mentioning Hogwarts, the man had actually encouraged him to go with his usual hard-engrained speech of 'go and profit from the occasion'.

It was as he took a step forward, that he felt the castle.

No, more than the castle it was the _shroud_ that he felt. It hummed. It twirled. It spun and it lamented. Deaths and blood had circled around the stones. Darkness like nothing before had crept through the halls. What was 'creepy' for a human was nothing more than the sign of a weak shroud for him, gifted of Necromancy from his blood.

He brought up his right hand, gently touching the wooden doors of the entrance as they slowly moved apart. The shroud was thin, but not unguarded. He could feel it. Powerful fetters and wards prevented him from doing anything to it. He could not summon forth the wraiths or bind them, he could not tear apart the shroud even if he ever became able to…but this place was something Ambrogino Giovanni would have probably sold _somebody's_ soul for.

Harry took small steps as he watched with fascination the golden statue of the first Headmaster of Hogwarts and of the architect, both standing at the entrance. He took more steps forward, guided by the sound of cheerful whispers. Just outside the door of the dining hall, a man with a wooden peg leg and a glass eye stood. He could have looked menacing, had he been anything more than a mere human wizard.

He did recognize the man however: he had seen him more than enough times with the fuss over Voldemort's destruction, and he had been one of the judges to his own rigged process.

"Alastor." He smiled. He always started with a smile: it unsettled his enemies. A vampire was not a brutish hulk who tore through opponents with claws, nor was he a Ghoul whose only purpose was to obey. A vampire was the friend of everyone and the enemy of none, of course until the daggers started flying.

"Harry," the man replied. The vampire resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He could have done a mess, like with Albus, but he just knew that Alastor Moody had never once called him Harry to begin with. The man was probably feigning the familiarity. Were they observed, he wondered?

"How have you been?" The auror asked. "Are you a teacher too?" The glass eye twirled in front of him, and for a single moment he was just on the verge of forgetting everything about pleasantries and rip both of his arms off…but he didn't.

Whoever the man was, he was but a pawn. A misinformed pawn of someone else and he didn't actually care to correct it. If the man had killed Moody, then all was well in the world. If the man wanted to kill Albus, then he didn't care. If he wanted to butcher all the children and students in the great hall, excluding a selected few he would personally shield, then he wouldn't even lift a finger.

He was here to repay his Life Debt. A vampire always has to pay his debts after all: the Camarilla was based upon that. Minor debts, common debts, major debts and Life Debts were the various degrees a vampire could end up being indebted to someone else. Unless one was a Sabbat cultist, debts _had_ to be repaid. It showed your trust. It displayed how effectively your word was worth.

This didn't mean you couldn't have some leeway with them. If you were asked to steal for an elder to repay a favour, nothing prohibited you from leaving behind a trail to the elder in question. Of course a smart elder would already supply within the debt the requirement of not leaving behind any trace willingly. He just had to 'protect' his sister. 'Protection' could be many things. The Putanesca family 'protected' the shopkeepers in Sicily by breaking the legs of those who didn't pay their 'protection' fee.

"Yes," he replied with a smile, "I'm the new Ghoul Studies Professor. You know, being a _vampire_ and all." He walked towards the dining hall's door, ignoring the stiffening of the fake auror. Whoever he was, he had spent a long time away from the newspaper. The news of the brother of the Girl-Who-Lived being transformed into a vampire had run across the world. Even the rocks knew of him.

He pushed the wooden doors open, and the silence descended in the dining hall as he walked forward. 'Moody' followed behind him, keeping his stiff and gruff behaviour. Harry's eyes scanned through the students, and then he saw her. In Gryffindor garbs, with her face staring at him as if she had seen a ghost. Her long red hair and light hazel eyes, coupled with a thin nose and a soft cheekbone made her stand out. She had probably lost weight from the distress in losing her parents, and was now looking at him with small tears forming on the sides of her eyes.

He heard a small gasp coming a bit further down the Gryffindor table, and he returned a grin to the brown haired seventh year girl better known as Hermione Granger.

Then, he settled his piercing sight on the staff table.

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore stated, standing up from his seat. "Students of Hogwarts, let me present to you your two new Professors. Alastor Moody is an ex-auror, who will be taking on the class of Defence against the Dark Arts," the fake Moody merely grumbled, moving his fake eye around in twirls and scaring a few impressionable first years.

"Harry Potter is instead overly qualified for the position of Ghoul studies, and I am sure you will enjoy the new insight he might provide." The 'overly qualified' could have been avoided, but he merely smiled as he sat down at his seat among the staff.

The ghosts that had loomed throughout the room were staring at him, as if suddenly realizing something was amiss. He nodded to acknowledge the man on his side, displaying his usual happy grin even though he would have truly liked to chop up the raven haired professor. Severus Snape seemed to understand that he was skimming on the edge of surviving the night, for he excused himself over some extremely delicate potion working to be done.

Harry scoffed. The man had merely postponed the hour of his departure from the living.

"Now a few words for those who have chosen Ghoul studies: since the arrangement was hasty, no books were inserted in your list for the year. The school owls may be used to order what supplies your professor will tell you, so do not worry. Now, I think a few words from the new staff would be much appreciated."

Harry's keen ears caught the familiar blubbering of Ron Weasley 'bloody hell I want to eat' and Hermione's 'Maybe I should take ghoul studies' soon followed by 'My father will hear of this, a vampire teaching!?' of Draco.

He looked at Alastor, who simply stared back at him from the other end of the table. Calmly, he stood up.

The murmurs died down as he coughed slightly in his fist. "Long night," he whispered to the hall, "Is the traditional greeting of a vampire. Vlad the Impaler is said to be the first vampire that has ever walked the Earth. Many other vampires have lived, married and procreated in the world since then. Yet I wonder how many of you know this. Who among the muggleborns knows of someone else, than Count Dracula? Who among the purebloods know of what a vampire can really do? Well, there is a reason vampires are feared by Wizarkind. You may have magic; you may consider yourself superior…"

He chuckled, "But know this: no _unprepared_ horde of wizard may stand even the slightest chance against a single _prepared_ _elder_ vampire. You, blondie." His finger pointed at Draco.

"How would you go about killing me?" He queried with a smile. Considering Draco's boasts of 'if he bits you Pansy, I'll kill him myself' had been heard by his ears.

"I am Draco Malfoy! You will address me with respect you subhuman beast!" Draco snarled back.

Harry smiled sweetly. He'd do as a first impression.

"_Stand_." And Draco stood.

"_Clap."_ And Draco clapped.

"_Sit."_ And Draco sat.

"And I will not—Pansy why are you—Blaise? Crab, Gregory what are you looking at me for?" The blond man muttered looking around.

"And you want to know something fun?" Harry hissed at the entire student body. "Orders can be given within a mere speech, and you would be none the wiser."

"What my colleague has yet to admit however." Here Alastor took the word, "Is that wizards can train themselves to resist the so called _Domination_ of elder vampires just as they resist the _Imperius curse_."

"Still, tell me Draco Malfoy," Harry commented offhandedly. "How would you go about killing me? A jinx? A curse? A hex or a charm maybe? Tell me, I'm curious."

"Fiendfyre." Draco snobbishly retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Correct." Harry acknowledged, "And then? Not every wizard has Fiendfyre ready, what else?"

"Incendio? Calling a firestorm? Vampires are not that strong!" Draco exclaimed.

"Alas I must admit you are right again. Incendio can burn a vampire very well. Conjuring a firestorm too can burn a vampire to a crisp…The question is: what type of vampire are we talking about? Tell me, would you believe yourself able to pronounce the incantation for Incendio from where you stand, should I wish you harm?"

"Of course." Draco scoffed, "there are two tables between us, and—"

"You sure, Draco?" Harry whispered softly at his ears. The blond boy yelped as he jumped nearly on Goyle's lap. Harry slowly walked back towards the staff table, smiling gently as he saw the stiffening postures of the Slytherins. "No _unprepared_ force may defeat a _prepared_ _elder_ Vampire. Acknowledge this, understand this, and maybe you won't _die_ because of one. " He snarled the last part out with effort, as he sat back down again.

"And know this: no books will be required for my study course." He commented.

He smiled then and waited for dinner to proceed. He wondered what Albus had planned on feeding him with. Raw meat was a possibility. His Dunsirn heritage might even make it agreeable, but he found it unrefined. The Wizardry world didn't know that 'Elders' were something way out of the league of any wizard. What they considered 'Elders' were but vampires who had been discovered and hadn't been 'maddened' by their loss of humanity.

The Camarilla had jumped on the occasion of avoiding a breach of the Masquerade, and thus for the wizards there were two distinctions: Vampires, mad and foul beasts who could do nothing but try and eat during the night, and Elder Vampires, who instead could be reasoned with and could control their impulses. It was sort of elating being referred to as an Elder, whereas he was nothing more than barely a Neonate, an unwanted Infant of a mad Dunsirn.

Thankfully his sire hadn't survived. He on the other hand had.

He was still debating whether his survival had indeed been lucky or not, when a goblet of blood appeared in front of him. He gave a curious glance to it, before turning his inquisitive gaze towards where Dumbledore was seated. The man gave him back an encouraging smile, and he rolled his eyes as he began to drink from the chalice.

He had missed the rant on constant vigilance by whoever Moody was, but it didn't much matter to him. Harry stood up from the staff table at the end of the feast, and was soon hounded by a few Seventh year.

"Professor," a timid voice squeaked, "It is good to see you again." Neville Longbottom smiled. The Seventh year Hufflepuff had grown since the time he had been a scared teen, afraid of what his grandmother would say for having been sorted in the house of badgers.

"Oh Harry, you're a professor now!" Hermione Granger literally gushed. The Gryffindor girl had been isolated by her peers during her first year at Hogwarts, and as a brave and loyal Hufflepuff he had befriended her and made her join Neville, Hannah and Susan.

"How are you faring?" Hannah asked quietly, her eyes settling on his pale skin first, while her gaze was sorrowful.

"Is New York really a city where nobody sleeps?" Susan quipped in, her stern face so much reminiscing him of that of her aunt, albeit now she was sporting an awkward smile on her face. "Are the muggles there unable to, or it's just a saying?"

"Calm down." Harry replied with a smile and a hearty chuckle as the barrage of questions came in from the Seventh years. "First off I'm glad to see you're all fine, secondly I'm fine myself and thirdly New York's muggles sleep just like everybody else."

"When will your lessons be?" Hermione asked with keen interest. "I started Ghoul studies in my third year as an elective, are the lesson going to be at night?"

"Yes." Harry nodded back. He cast a gaze at Albus, who seemed to be waiting for him near the dining hall's doors. "Shouldn't you Prefects lead the students to their dorms?" He asked then.

Hermione and Neville both had the decency to splutter and move, while Hannah just quietly looked at him for a moment more before nodding to herself and leaving. Susan just stared at him for a moment, before whispering.

"What are you going to do?"

"Uhm?"

"You don't really want to be here, do you?"

He sighed. Susan had always been the perceptive one. He shrugged and smiled again. "I'll be keeping an eye out on my sister."

"I'm not offering you the condolences: I know you don't want them." She murmured back.

"I don't need them to begin with." He replied, before waving the seventh year goodnight. He was about to move towards Dumbledore, when Lillian moved hesitantly near him.

"Harry?" She timidly asked, her hazel eyes widening as he did not stop to hear her out. The vampire ignored the girl-who-lived and moved briskly to where Dumbledore stood, now with a frown on his face.

"Mister Potter," Albus scoffed, "she is one of your students. Could you please refrain from being so callous?" He slowly brought up his right eyebrow at that bit of information.

"She took Ghoul Studies?" He asked back.

"Ah, yes." Albus replied with a smile. "Miss Granger, Mister Longbottom, Miss Abbott, Miss Bones and many of your friends too. They all wished to know about Vampires and I'm pretty sure they have been researching for a cure for as long as you've been bitten."

He awkwardly moved his gaze sideways. Inwardly, he was sighing. There was no cure. Vampirism wasn't a sickness. It was a curse. All knowledge of Vampires was false to begin with: how could a cure be envisioned from falsehoods?

"I hope they will stop wasting their time after our first lesson." He replied calmly. "They could do a lot of great things: they shouldn't be clamped down in a fruitless effort."

"Helping one's friend is never a fruitless effort, Mister Potter." Albus answered with mirth in his tone. "It is instead a touching scene of friendship."

"If you say so, Headmaster."

In silence, Harry followed the old wizard through the familiar hallways and past the paintings, taking the stairways down to the dungeons. He actually sighed in relief when the windows stopped showing themselves alongside the walls, bringing thus all the illumination only on the torches. He flicked his eyes in careful annoyance towards the small fires, calming himself down.

The Headmaster stopped in front of a polished black door, with a set of complex locks on the outside. He brought up an eyebrow at that.

"The board of governor asked for you to be locked up when not required attending lessons during the night, during the day you will be free to receive students in your office."

"In New York, I had a booming restaurant, a nice life and respect Dumbledore." Harry whispered calmly, his cold green eyes now turning on the old wizard. "Treat me like a dangerous beast, and you will face one." Then he walked inside, closing the door straight on the face of the Headmaster.

The room was softly lit by glowing torches; a coffin of all things was placed within a corner of the room. A luscious purple carpet covered the stone floor, while a painting of what seemed like a grey skinned man scoffed at his sight. He brought up an eyebrow at the sight of his desk, made of glass and with marble legs, with golden twirls joining it into an opulent piece of furniture. His coffin wasn't any less, since it seemed filled with satin and silk. He nearly gagged when he turned his gaze to where a dresser stood, next to another smaller desk with a mirror on and with its surface literally covered in beauty products.

He gazed, hard, at the man on the framed painting.

"What?" The painting retorted hotly, seeing the glare. "Style is everything for us vampires!" The thing spoke with a shrilled voice, and Harry just shook his head, before sitting down at his desk's chair.

He was in for a long night, but at least it appeared that at regular intervals a chalice of blood appeared on his desk. He sighed.

"I won't die of hunger then."

When he finally crept into Torpor, he was startled to hear the sound of the locks of his door coming loose. He blearily opened his eyes to a now cluttered desk, filled with parchments and scrolls that seemed to showcase what he had to teach to each class from third year onward. He groaned as he saw the door open to admit Susan.

"Miss Bones?" He asked. "Do you have questions to ask for a lesson that has yet to come?" He sarcastically sniped. Waking from torpor consumed Vitae, and he really didn't want to waste it even if it was supplied by the Hogwarts' kitchens.

"Well no," Susan replied. "But when we heard of how you were locked in, we thought 'why not go and visit him, and then aptly forget about putting the locks back on?' and so here I am." She seemed actually abashed at saying that.

"And they sent the niece of the head of the DMLE so that she wouldn't be expelled in case it was discovered." Harry remarked calmly. "Which Slytherin is giving you the ideas?"

"Greengrass," Susan quipped quickly. "Hermione's tutoring her on Muggle Studies."

He brought up an eyebrow at that bit of information. "Daphne Greengrass?"

"Astoria, her younger sister," Susan quickly corrected herself.

"Ah, I see." He frowned slightly, turning his gaze back to his mass of papers. He could have sworn they had just multiplied. "It seems I'll have to prepare a lesson plan for my first lesson."

"Hermione wanted to pass by later," Susan commented. "She did say something about you being hopeless with organizing things."

He feigned a mock-shocked face, "Me? But the sorting hat wanted me in Ravenclaw, didn't you know that?"

Susan just giggled. "I don't know why, but I doubt it. See you later, professor."

Harry just shook his head lightly, before moving his fingers to settle the parchments with speed and precision. He should find one or two students to turn into Ghouls, and proceed from there in having the pile sorted. The thought soon disappeared as fast as it had come: Vampires, for the wizards, did not have Ghouls. The theory of Ghouls was complex and utterly wrong. Wizardry Britain believed that some sort of wretched physical wraith attached to a fetter was a ghoul, while in truth a 'Ghoul' was a human who was bestowed blood by a vampire.

The human would then become addicted to the blood, and would be able to use said crimson liquid, called Vitae after the vampire filtered it, to do feats beyond humanity's limits. Smashing metal plates, jumping down from four stories high buildings, healing gunshots with ease…a Ghoul could do many things, but the price was substantial slavery to the Vampire.

A slavery that went beyond the mere ordering around, for the slaves of a Vampire always obeyed out of their own 'free' will.

The first letters he read were from the ministry, advising him to show up 'at his earnest speed' to be regularized as a British citizen. They also explained his need to have a human guardian in order to be 'considered tame' and the fact that he had to register and be branded a tattoo on his arm to warn others of his condition.

He tore apart that paper, glad that the Beast seemed to be thinking alongside him for that moment. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the Shroud surrounding Hogwarts, and the Shadowlands beyond. The noises of the ghosts floating in the air became now louder, as he felt the presence of a nearby Wraith moving closer.

He opened his eyes and stood up. There was a Wraith that was unbound to the protection of the castle nearby. The wards probably did not cover all the ghosts, as some might have come later than most. He calmed himself and froze in mid-step. He couldn't do this by day: controlling wraiths, or even going as far as summoning one always required one to be careful and prepared.

To do so during the day, when his actions were limited, was not a smart way to go.

He returned to his desk's chair and began to compile the lessons' plans. Eventually, he hit the mark of time he could remain awake during the day and fell in Torpor once more.

He awoke to the gentle knocking on the door and the slightly flustered face of Hermione, who seemed to be hesitantly smiling at him.

"Professor, I was sent to tell you where your lessons are held."

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he grabbed the papers for his first lesson. He had a group of fifth years, who would be starting their lessons on Inferis. He walked out of his office and nodded to the brown haired girl, following her through the halls.

"Everyone's talking about the Tri-wizard tournament." The girl began. "I think they don't even know how dangerous it can be." She added. "People have died in it, and yet all that the others rant on about is how 'exciting' and 'cool' it would be to participate." She shook her head.

"Let youth be youth." He replied calmly. He arrived in front of a classroom on the lower levels of the main staircase of Hogwarts, with the portraits unabashedly sniffing and snoring softly.

He entered the room in silence, the soft murmurs dying down as he reached for the teacher's desk at the end of the small classroom. There were barely twenty students, all from different Houses and yet all holding themselves prim and proper without any sort of hexing going on. On the first rows were the Gryffindors, soon followed by the Hufflepuffs and then the Ravenclaws. The Slytherins were just so casually placed the closest to the door.

All the Slytherins seemed to be sporting crosses and garlic necklaces, and even a few of the other houses members had one of said items, or a lighter at the ready if the student was muggle-born. He didn't know whether to smile or not at that display, and as such he settled on a slight upwards tug of his lips.

"My name is Harry Potter, and I am an Elder Vampire." He spoke slowly, savouring the word 'elder' as it came out through his tongue: he would have needed three hundred years to even dare aspire at that title normally, but to uphold the masquerade 'sacrifices' had to be made…even if this didn't actually seem a bad one. "I will be your Professor on Ghoul Studies." He began.

"First lesson to learn," he began to write on the chalkboard, "is the distinction between an 'Elder' Vampire and a normal Vampire. Someone already knows some differences between the two?"

A few hands raised themselves, from the Ravenclaws' rows. He nodded and pointed his finger at a blond haired girl who replied.

"An Elder Vampire is more intelligent, smarter and more powerful than a normal vampire." She muttered the sentence with a meek and timid voice, a slight tremble of her lips indicated she was actually afraid to talk, but did so nonetheless.

"Indeed. Five points to Ravenclaw. Anything else?" Harry replied with a nod, before pointing at another raised hand, coming from a Slytherin.

"An Elder vampire is not afraid of Garlic or Crosses. He can resist the need to drink blood at night." The boy with a pudgy face then removed his cross and his garlic crown, transfiguring the cross back into a quill and putting the smelly vegetables on the ground.

"Correct again: five points to Slytherin." Teaching didn't seem that difficult, now that he was immersed in it. He just hoped it would keep up like that.

In fact it did. It kept like that for the entire hour of lesson. As the class walked itself out and headed to their respective dormitories, he settled on the chair and began to scrunch up on the names of his students. It wouldn't take much to memorize them, and it was always a proper thing to know the 'enemy' a bit more.

The door of the classroom opened slightly, as if a silent wind had just then decided to play with him. He tensed and narrowed his eyes. _Obscuration_ was a Nosferatu trademark blood ability, just like it belonged to the Lasombra or any other Kindred who desired to learn it or diablerized another to grab it.

He would need to up his plans on getting some Wraiths to work as his guards, if there were Nosferatu running around the castle. He didn't feel the pull of the beast, but that didn't mean there wasn't an enemy: it just meant the enemy might know a better trick to stay hidden.

Constant Vigilance had been Moody's favourite sentence, when he was trained by the mad man during his youth. He bitterly snorted as that memory resurfaced from within him. The bullshit on Mentor-Apprentice being a sort of cheesy bond was nothing of the sorts. The man had been mental and had remained such. He had slept on the ground and woke up because of freezing water. His summers hadn't been to the beach, but under the harsh glare of the retired auror.

"_You're doing a great thing, son. Train hard."_ For who? Certainly not for himself, since his father had eyes for his little Girl-Who-Lived princess. It wasn't being ignored, because most certainly he had never been ignored. His birthdays had been celebrated just as much as those of his sister, his parents had been there as much for him as for her…but the expectations had hurt. He had never asked if he wanted to protect his sister. One morning, after receiving his wand, he had been asked if he wanted to learn more magic than normal.

The training had started that day. He hadn't realized it then, for he had been young and naïf. When he did understand, it was already too late to sulk about it. The problem was that his Beast would never let him forget. His Beast would claw with whatever tools it had, to make him petty, jealous, and resentful, to make him commit mistakes. A true elder wouldn't have risen to the bait of the petty words of a blond haired imbecile.

A true elder would have silently brought the wizard's entire family into ruins.

"_My little boy is all grown-up now."_ His mother had stopped buying him gifts after his second year at Hogwarts. Money cards were better: he could get whatever he wanted with them. The implicitly unspoken thing was that she no longer knew what he liked or wished for, busy as she was with work and taking care of his younger sister. The girl had been five years old at the time, always touching and scampering around.

Every accidental burst of magic had the girl being the centre of the attention. This was the jealousy of being the older sibling, he didn't know it at the time, but now…

Now he wondered why the Nosferatu was making noise while walking closer to him.

"You are either incredibly daft or surprisingly stupid." He whispered as the noise stopped. "I can hear you."

The next moment, his sister's head emerged from beneath what looked like an invisibility cloak. Her eyes were puffy and her nose red, but her hands seemed to hold on to the rims of the cloak tightly.

Silence descended in the room, as the girl held her head low while biting her lower lip. Her red hair was down along the sides of her face, and she seemed to be fumbling from one foot to the other.

"Miss Potter?" He asked calmly reining in the desire to wring the girl's neck. It wouldn't do to go against a Life Debt. "Is something the matter?"

"I'm sorry." She blurted out. "I'm sorry," she looked at him with her hazel eyes, which already were tearing up once more. "I don't know what I did but I'm sorry. I'm sorry —really— sorry." She whimpered as she held tightly on the cloak. "Please don't hate me —you're all that's left."

He raised an eyebrow at the sudden outburst of tears, mumbled words and what-not coming out from the girl's mouth. He listened to her keenly, and he then closed his eyes calmly.

"I humbly apologize, Harry Potter, of any wrongdoings committed against you." He intoned calmly. "That is how you deliver a proper excuse."

Lillian looked at him in silence now, carefully blinking and swiping away her tears with the back of her right hand. "I'm…I humbly apologize —it's right, isn't it?" He nodded as she pressed on, "Harry Potter, of anything wrong I did against you."

"Acceptable." He replied calmly. A Ventrue would have probably crucified her to a cross and then burned her, but he was a Giovanni, and a Dunsirn at that. He could survive with an acceptable excuse. "Now that this is out of the way, why are you outside your dormitory, this late at night?"

"Curfew isn't in effect for fifteen minutes yet." Lillian huffed back, "And I…"

"I didn't catch that." He replied.

"I was told not to go anywhere alone after…after mum and dad died." She whispered. "But I have the cloak and the map, so I'm safe!" She exclaimed suddenly.

"Yes, Hogwarts is really a safe place to be. It's not like there were Basilisks or Possessed teachers around." Harry pointed out calmly.

"Yes, I—" She frowned for a moment. "Wait!" She blurted out getting flustered, "That's not…That's not the point."

"I think it is." He replied calmly. "Or I wouldn't be here." He added as he slowly stood up and walked in front of his sister. "I'm here to protect you, Lillian, because I owe a debt to Dumbledore. There is no sort of brotherly feeling any more in my body for you, nor was I sad for our parents' deaths: I do not care."

Lillian's eyes widened as she paled and took a hesitant step backwards.

"I was fine in New York." He wistfully remarked. "I was fine living my life." He commented, "And of course my life had to be put in second place, because of you, once more." He chuckled grimly. "I'm going to protect you all right: you're to serve detention with Professor Snape for having disobeyed the Headmaster's orders tomorrow night. I'll notify the Professor." He smiled and swiftly grabbed the invisibility cloak, pulling it out of the hands of the girl. "The cloak is furthermore confiscated! It is a security risk I cannot condone."

"That's not fair!" Lillian screamed back at him, but he merely ignored her.

"Life's not fair." He deadpanned, folding the cloak. "Live with it."

**Author's notes**

**Life Debt: in the world of **_**Vampire**_**, when someone does you a favour, you owe then a debt. It may be a minor favour, a common favour, a major favour, or a life favour. (So you would need to owe back a minor debt, a common debt, a major debt or a life debt) Said debts vary depending on what the favour was: if it was continuous, life-risking for who does the favour and so on.**

**Clearly being alive isn't a part of the deal, since Vampires aren't 'dead' they're 'Un-Dead'. So they live. Harry's Life Debt isn't Wizard-related, if somebody had read the chapter as he should have, he would have noticed it was emphasized how it was **_**Vampiric**_** in Nature.**

**So the favour was done after Harry was bitten. Not before. After.**

**That said, the 'canon characters' are Seventh years. The 'Canon but fanon' characters (Astoria, Daphne, Fay Dunbar, Kevin Entwhistle, etcetera) are time-correct. Astoria is one year younger than Daphne, hence she's doing muggle studies as elective in her third year. **

**That's all for the moment.**


	3. The Clouds Bled

Grey clouds loomed. The windows reflected his image through the haze of the darkening sky. The sun had barely gone down, and there he was looking like a melodramatic hero, staring at the last lingering lights. Merlin, he missed the sun. He didn't miss the harsh blaze or the scorching rays of his runs with his trainers. He missed the sun's warmth on the skin. He missed the feeling of drinking cool water when thirsty and of eating warm food when hungry.

Now all that trickled down his throat was crimson blood. Not that he was displeased by it, and on occasion he could hold down food like a human, although he later would purge it out of his system. The hunger was something every vampire felt, and yet once that was gone, once the vampire was regularly fed…the Beast was the other problem.

It was sadly ironic that humanity's need to socialize with others mixed with the angered nature of the Beast, whose sole desires were the hunt and the gorging on more food. He stiffened slightly, as he heard the tell-tale sound of a wooden peg leg approach. He stared with an amused gaze at the fake Moody, who seemed to have yet to see him.

Considering he was half in the Shadowlands, he didn't doubt he was quite difficult to spot. The wails and moans of the deceased, of the Wraiths and of the Spirits lingering by were music to his ears. Alastor passed by him, his spinning eye probably nothing more than a prop if he couldn't even see him. He left him go, not interested in the fact that he seemed to be heading for the Potions' master's cabinet of potions and ingredients.

He began to walk upwards instead, making his way towards the dining feast. The Invisibility cloak was folded and safely tucked away in the safest spot he could think of: behind the painting of that poor excuse of a vampire. As he entered the dining hall, he was once more surprised to see Severus Snape stand up and leave. Quite in a hurry too, judging by how he took the exit furthest away from him with uncanny speed.

There were a few snickers at the students' tables, but as he sat down his eyes met for a brief instant the disapproving glare of the Headmaster Dumbledore. He smiled gingerly back, even fluttering his eyelids in the personification of 'sainthood' a Daeva had sworn worked.

Of course if you have enough _Ascendant_ and _Presence_ to do so, anything is legal, possible and can work to get you out of jail. Even chewing one's nails was erotic, for some Daevas. He drank from the usual chalice, as the owls flew down and delivered their mail.

He froze as two parchments settled down nicely in front of him.

One was more of a thick parcel than a letter, and the second was instead a postcard. Out of the two however, he feared the postcard.

The postcard was a fetter.

He could feel it by merely touching it. He could understand that the spirit of a postman had been relentlessly pursuing the card and he knew that the Wraith would be carrying a message only for his ears. He shuddered because of the name written on the postcard, revealing to him the grisly name of the sender.

_Augustus Giovanni._

The Antediluvian-who-walks. The only one who successfully drank the life out of his sire, becoming one of the most feared aspects of Vampire society to have ever existed in the World of Darkness: the last time an Antediluvian had woke up, typhoons had quaked India. Augustus Giovanni wasn't as powerful as a true ancestor, but he was powerful. He was really powerful.

He had never been ousted of his position. He had never been challenged. He had never —if ever— been assaulted or otherwise had risked his life. There was only one explanation for the postcard: Augustus _knew_. The man had to have known, from the moment Dumbledore had talked to him probably, that he would be going to Hogwarts. The Postcard had been sent at the very least three days earlier. So at least one day before the Headmaster of Hogwarts had even come to meet him.

There was only one word, written in Italian, upon the postcard.

_Profitta._

_Profit_. The _law_ of the Giovanni family. The _only_ law of the Giovanni family. To profit was to be efficient. To be efficient was to be a made-man. And to be a made-man was to become more proficient in profiting. He stilled because he could not, truly, believe the message to have come from the head of the Giovanni family itself. He had been embraced by a Dunsirn, by mistake, and that was more than enough to actually warrant his eternal destruction to the hands of the Camarilla Archons.

The Giovanni however were independent. The Giovanni had sworn beneath the pact of Thorns neutrality of arms. In that way they had doubly profited by selling to both sides. The Giovanni were bankers, financial gurus, stock holders and much more. They were Mafiosi last, but that didn't mean they weren't as ruthless as the worse Nosferatu could be. It didn't mean they weren't as fierce as the worse enraged Sabbat Brujah.

It just meant they smiled before sending _someone else_ to twist your neck.

As if holding the Holy Grail, he gently placed the postcard within the inner pocket of his robes, before moving to have a look at the parcel. He frowned slightly at the lack of sender, but still proceeded to open the package carefully. A dream catcher emerged, made of thin and bristle wood, probably holly. He recognised the shard's colour, and if he weren't sure his wand had been destroyed, he'd say somebody had grabbed the shards and glued them back together.

"_I had a nightmare." _

"_Let's build a dream catcher then."_

He blinked as his eyes moved slowly towards his sister's form. The girl was nervously looking at him, her eyes somehow moving up and down from his face to the form within his hands. That would have been heart- warming to say the least, and he was sure, terribly so, that if he had been a mortal he would have melted. The problem was that he wasn't a mortal. He was a vampire. Vampires…

He sighed. He was frozen in time. He didn't sigh because he wanted to, but because he knew that was the correct thing to do in the situation. Just like he blinked when he remembered to, or breathed when he remembered to: he didn't need to do those movements, those actions, but he did them nonetheless.

His emotions were nothing more than echoes of his mortal ones. His actions were nothing more than strength of habit made manifest. He could not forgive his sister, because he had died in spite of her. He could feign forgiveness, he could feign coming to terms with and 'forgiving' her, but he couldn't, truly, forgive her. He couldn't change his static self. He could fake it of course, smiling, accepting apologies, following rules, but he could not change.

His eyes trailed once more over the dream catcher, before quietly putting it on his lap and standing up to leave the table.

"I think I'll go and talk with Professor Snape for a while." He smiled as he excused himself, slowly walking out of the dining hall. His footsteps echoed in the silent corridor, as the paintings snored softly around him. A low pitched wail was heard behind one of the doors of the corridor, soon followed by a rattling of the paintings' frames all around him.

He touched the postcard and then hurried along. Speaking with Professor Snape would wait: he had a chat he could not postpone with a wraith powerful enough that Augustus himself had bind it.

He barely managed to run into an empty classroom, when the Wraith materialized, literally tearing through the Shroud and the protections of Hogwarts as if they were nothing more than soft butter. The Wraith looked ancient, filled with hatred and rage. Half of its ghostly body had been torn apart by an explosion, and he was clad like a soldier in the First World War. The postcard had probably been written as a message to a beloved one, but never delivered.

Such anger and hatred for the message being defiled was probably only staved by the effort in following it.

"Give. It. Back." The Wraith wailed; the empty desks around them clattered and splintered, as the wood broke and cracked from the Shroud bearing its weight down on the surrounding area. "Give. It. BACK!"

"Deliver your message!" He snarled, as his will and blood hummed and his vitae burned to speak back to the lingering soul. The soul was barely away from becoming a Spectre, and he couldn't help but think of this as a test from Augustus himself. If the soul transformed, a Spectre of such power within Hogwarts could pretty much rival Peeves, making him look like an innocent schoolgirl; especially because Spectres were not only malicious, but _murderous_.

"Augustus is…angered." The Wraith fought, but could not stop itself from speaking, "He wishes…Ambrogino…to come and study…a favour, he offers…in the Giovanni…he fully will bring you…money he will grant…power…control…no longer Dunsirn, but Giovanni! _Now give it back!_"

The Wraith howled in pain, as its essence began to break apart, just as Harry ripped the postcard into shreds.

"You. Will. D—"

"I banish you back to the Shadowlands, Wraith!" He yelled out loud, his will draining as his Vitae burned. Shackles of smoke and blood emerged from the blackness that surrounded the Wraith, who with an unholy scream launched itself against him. Just as the torn ethereal body was about to hit him, the chains tensed, and would have choked the Wraith had the creature held any need for air.

The cold murderous gaze of the Wraith soon turned to fear.

"Please, no." With that last muffled scream, this time with a tone of plight, fear and grief, the creature disappeared within the inky darkness of the room's furthest corner. Harry fell down on one knee, gasping for air. He knew he didn't need to breath, and he wasn't actually sweating to begin with, but those actions were familiar to him, and the effort had been great to begin with.

Back in the Shadowlands, that Wraith would slowly be consumed and die. Its soul completely destroyed. That was the ultimate death. He chuckled grimly as he stood back up.

He turned to leave, but narrowed his eyes at the sight of the slightly ajar door. Somebody had watched him. He hurried towards the door, opening it and looking down the corridor both to his right and to his left. There was no-one. He walked out of the room slowly, before shaking his head. He needed those Wraith guards as soon as possible. It was the only way to be completely safe, after all.

He entered the classroom and reached for his desk, before turning to stare at the seventh year students he would be teaching.

Hermione was in the first rows, already with her quill and her white parchment in front of her, ready to take notes. Next to her Neville was bashfully nervous, but seemingly doing the same.

"Long night," Harry intoned calmly, "Is the normal salute a Vampire gives to another. Vampires' activities are generally at their peak during the winter months, but especially during the longest night of the year: the winter solstice. Now, can someone tell me why that is?"

Hermione's hand was already up in the sky, and as he nodded pointing at her, the girl replied.

"Because they have a longer time in looking for their prey, and they can bite more than a single person."

"Incorrect." Harry shook his head lightly. "It is not the duration of a night that marks a Vampire's activity. The winter solstice falls on the twentieth or the twenty-first of June. Someone now wishes to try again?"

"Vampires love skinny dipping at night?" A Slytherin snorted back.

"Some do." Harry replied with a chuckle, "Those who do would probably have your neck snapped, your bones broken, and would probably enjoy slurping down your entrails while you are still alive, but no, that answer is wrong again." He was mellifluous as he spoke, the light smile never leaving his lips as the Slytherin paled. "Someone else?"

"People go on vacation elsewhere and are easier to hunt down." A Ravenclaw, Padma Patil, spoke clearly. "Vampires can't generally enter well-guarded houses, but hotels, bungalows, and countryside bed and breakfasts are easier. People go in exotic places and as tourists they are fair game to the vampires of the place."

"Correct, Miss Patil." Harry nodded. "Ten points to Ravenclaw." He turned to the blackboard, chalk in hand. "Vampires are territorial." He wrote down neatly, "They are cunning and witty. They play on the wizard's poor knowledge and present themselves as a dashing gentleman, a charming lady, a kind and tanned bloke from the beach, and thus they enter your social circle." He quickly drew a stick figure, surrounding it with a circle.

"Humans are social creatures. Left alone, a single human withers and dies without external contact, his brain starts to literally shut down…and the same can be said for a vampire. Vampires need to feed on blood, but while the normal bred uses brute strength, the Elder type uses speech, charming gazes and seductive winks. The 'summer' escapades that you may partake of at night, maybe in a bungalow along the beach with an endowed girl might be nothing more than a Vampire feeding on your delusions."

He drew a set of stick figures around the board, connecting them with lines. "A vampire is a social climber first and foremost. A Vampire is polite, kind and charming. In the end, an Elder Vampire has no need to force himself on the victim: the victim herself willingly gives most of the time. The first thing to understand, however, is that while Vampires can be recognized easily by their pale skin and their pointy teeth, many who feign being alive employ charms cast by relatives to resemble their living states."

A hand rose in the air, courtesy of a Gryffindor. Harry nodded and waited.

"What was the bit with Malfoy that you did, Professor? Nobody could follow you as you did that!"

"That… That is one of the reason Elder Vampires are feared more than their normal counterparts, Mister Finnigan." Harry acknowledged. "Vampires can defeat the boundaries of their human bodies, becoming stronger, faster and tougher for a brief period, albeit that leaves them thirsty for more blood. An Elder Vampire can merely use at will said abilities, and having a cunning intelligence behind said powers, they can be used to devastating effects. Many wizards die each year for trying to 'bring to justice' Elder Vampires and miserably failing."

Hermione's hand was now once more up, and so he sighed and pointed at her to give her permission to ask the question he knew she was bound to ask.

"If Elder Vampires are smart, why isn't a diplomatic solution searched between them and the ministry?"

"Because, plainly put, the ministry is made of imbeciles," here he grinned as a few murmurs came from the students. "Now, now, let's ask a nice question to you, mister Zabini." Harry began calmly, pointing at the dark skinned student of Slytherin.

The boy tensed, but looked back at him calmly.

"Let's say…that you like eating pie." Harry began calmly, "You like it so much, in fact, that you need to eat a pie a day because otherwise you feel sick."

"I'm not much of a sweet tooth, sir." Blaise replied curtly, but then grimaced back into silence at Harry's stern glare.

"Now, you eat your pie calmly and with decorum. And you leave behind the plate. There are, however, uncouth citizens who enjoy pie just like you, but they break the plates after they have finished eating pie. Of course the restaurant can't have all of its plates broken, but since he can't distinguish who enjoys pies from who doesn't, and since the restaurant doesn't wish to kill its customers, it decides to brand them all." Here Harry's mile became feral, "A brand that requires yet another customer, one who doesn't love pie, to swear that his pie-eating friend will not break any plates. And so after you have been branded, you can eat your pie in peace again…nice, and simple right? It's only a tattoo after all…what bad and evil thing could come from that?"

He turned to the chalkboard and began to draw the runes for the tattoo.

"Anyone in here who is taking Ancient Runes: tell me what this array does."

The moment he finished with a flourish of chalk the drawing, Hermione gasped soon followed by a few of the Ravenclaws.

"That's a suicide mark!" a voice commented.

"Ten points to whoever said that!" Harry boomed back, turning with his robes billowing. "And now, mister Zabini, your friend becomes your enemy. Maybe he doesn't like you any longer, maybe he moves overseas, maybe he is sleeping with your wife and you find out, maybe he is Imperiused, maybe he blackmails you for money…or maybe he just asks you for sexual favours. Some do, no need grimacing: those are the least of the problems." He rolled his eyes. "And the next moment, with no court, no judge and no sentence…puff." The chalk he had been smashing with his right hand flew in the air, in a cloud of white powder.

"And you burn up. Now tell me, Mister Zabini, would you take a brand to eat pie, knowing that not eating pie will kill you, and taking one might get you killed?" Harry smiled wickedly and took a step forward.

Blaise shook his head without saying a word, and the Vampire nodded. "Fifteen points to Slytherin, Mister Zabini. Now, let's continue the lesson…"

"Professor," Hermione's hand was raised once more, and she seemed to be actually desperate to ask.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Did the ministry brand you? And if so, who is your guardian?"

Harry smiled and inclined his head to the side. "No, but not for lack of trying on their part."

"Isn't that illegal then, sir?" Neville piped in.

"No, because I am no longer a British citizen: I am American, and thus fall under their laws concerning vampirism which are far more..._humane_ than the ones in our backwater ministry."

The rest of the lesson passed by in silent scribbling, and by the time it was over his eyes settled on the Seventh years that had chosen to remain behind.

"Well, what can I do for you, Miss Granger?"

"Can't you forgive Lillian?" Hermione remarked carefully, her attitude turning slightly cold. "She's not at fault in all of this."

_Tell that to my Beast,_ he thought grimly.

"I have forgiven her." He replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Then give her back the cloak: it's one of the last things that belonged to her father, Harry. The house burned down with both of them inside! There weren't even the bodies to bury!" she glared at him then, her light brown eyes displaying her anger with their cold gaze.

"I did not take the cloak because I was being petty, Hermione." He retorted, "I took the cloak because it was a security risk. She cannot go around the castle alone, beneath the invisibility cloak, and hope that being invisible is all that she needs to be safe."

Hermione bit her lip, her logical side acknowledging he was right, but her emotional side trying to counter it. The girl held her heart on her sleeve…like everyone else. Only he and the kindred knew the subtle art of hiding their emotions, their true thoughts. Occlumency paled in comparison to their façades, Legilimency was nothing when they decided to seek the truth, Veritaserum was meaningless against those who made of lies truth and of truth falsehoods.

The sun could burn them to charred remains…but they could burn nations and smile all the same.

"Now, if there are no more questions, you may go." Slowly the remaining students trickled out, and as the last one left, Susan who smiled sadly at him, Alastor Moody trudged in.

"Well, Harry…"

"Oh Alastor, would you mind _giving me your wand_?" Harry smiled back kindly as the man obeyed without a second thought.

"I…Wh—" His only eye widened as he saw the wand pointed at him.

"No constant vigilance speech, huh Moody?" Harry snarled back. "You don't know how much I hate seeing that face, whoever you are." He whispered, "But let's put something out in the open: I don't care what you do, or for who you're working, or whatever reason you have. Don't tell me. I don't want to know. Leave me alone, and I will do the same with you." He commented. "Give me no _reason_ to suspect you have anything against Lillian, and I will have no reason to come and hunt you down. Understood?"

The fake-Moody sucked in air sharply, before nodding slowly.

"_Now make an unbreakable vow on it._" He hissed out, feeling the Vitae burn as his mind clashed against that of the fake Alastor. The man tried to fight, but it was useless.

_Dominate_ was nothing like the Imperius curse. _Dominate_ was more subtle, stronger, and it was a complete lie and misdirection that people could train to resist it. Another bit of falsehood scattered in what being a Vampire truly was.

Once Alastor had properly sworn not to attack him and to leave him out of his plans, he bid the man farewell. The fake was confused slightly, he could see it as he left him behind, but it didn't matter. He had no doubt the man would think something else to fill the forgotten time. He quickly reached for his office again, hoping to find the chalice of blood just like the night before.

He was not deluded, and as he avidly drank from it to restore the precious Vitae he had burned, he began to formulate a plan.

Vampires were not fighters. They were masterminds.

Ambrogino wanted in. There was the Triwizard Tournament.

He skimmed over the papers on his desk, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons as the other two schools. He could do this.

He just needed to gather the courage to write a very elegant letter to the Vampire known as the rudest jerk in the history of the Giovanni family to bring him in. He stilled just as the quill was about to settle on the paper. It wasn't actually possible: the schools had already given a list of the faculty members that would participate. There was no way to put Ambrogino in that way.

Maybe he could puncture the wards?

He snorted, that would require the headmaster's will.

As he settled into reading the way the tournament would be held, and the fact that the students were to be exonerated from the lessons, he brought up an eyebrow at the mention of what the tasks would be.

Taking a golden orb from nesting dragons? Really?

Saving a friend from the castle's lake…that was even —sort of— normal.

Finally a maze, where at the end a cup would have to be taken to be portkeyed back at the entrance of the labyrinth…

To be portkeyed back.

The labyrinth was within Hogwarts ground still, the Headmaster would have to grant a 'hole' for the cup.

Yes.

He could use that.

He smiled as he settled back against the chair of his office. He was still smiling when the door opened, to admit Susan, who sat down on the chair in front of him with a huff. Her Prefect badge was clearly displayed on her chest.

"Shouldn't you be doing your rounds?" he asked.

"Shouldn't you be assigning homework to the Seventh years?" she retorted cheekily. The Hufflepuff girl looked hesitantly around the office, before finally taking a deep breath. "I can't keep silent."

He raised an eyebrow.

"What is it, then?"

"Tonks," she began, "She's…she's seeing someone else."

"And that concerns me how?" his gaze went down to his nuptial ring, before returning upwards to Susan. "We are through, aren't we?"

"Yes, but…"

Harry remained quiet, waiting to hear what was meant to rile him up that had the girl scared.

"She's seeing a werewolf." Susan hastily added.

"This still does not—"

"She's seeing Remus Lupin!" The girl blurted out, "Your father's friend!"

He blinked. He tapped on the surface of his desk with an uncaring attitude before turning his monotone voice on.

"And I should care because?"

"You're going to be at Grimmauld place with her, right? Well…they're both there too! Sirius…"

"And how do you know that?" he asked, slowly tensing up as his eyes gazed harshly on the Hufflepuff.

"My aunt was asked by Dumbledore to provide external protection, she assigned the aurors." Susan was now shyly looking at the floor, biting her lower lip as she did that.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" He finally relaxed, perplexed at such a sight.

"I…I need help." She bashfully whispered, "Neville wants to try and put his name in for the Tri-wizard cup. I can't let him do it. Can't you talk with him and convince him otherwise?"

He frowned. "Is this the best you can do?"

She blinked, her mouth slightly hanging.

"I mean: this is the most of your Slytherin side? You first tell me and then ask the favour? Susan…" He sighed, shaking his head. "Things don't work like that. First you bait an information, then you ask for help and you deliver once you are certain the help has come."

"Oh." She slowly stood up. "So you're not going to help?"

"I never said that." He replied with a light smile. He drank from his goblet once more, before standing up with a smile and gesturing for Susan to follow him outside.

As the girl stood towards the entrance, the door covering her from the sight of the painting in the office, he swiftly grabbed her. She widened her eyes as he brought his lips to smash against hers with his eyes open. He poured the blood in his mouth, now turned into Vitae, within her throat.

The moment he separated, he whispered a single word, as his thumb cleaned the red-stained lips of Susan.

"_Forget_." And then he smiled, dropping back to his usual carefree attitude as he gallantly showed her the way out.

"I'll talk with Neville, Susan. Don't worry about it!"

"Thanks Harry, you're a real friend!" The girl replied, seemingly longing for a bit more near him, before finally walking down the corridor. She skipped to a halt halfway, turned to look at him once more, and then dashed embarrassedly back to her dorm.

He returned to his office and smiled.

The painting of the Vampire merely huffed in annoyance.

"Students! Always coming around to disturb the professors! In my times this would have been a scandalous behaviour!"

"Yes, they never seem to know when to stop lowering the bar...such disrespectful actions…" He shook his head with a light smirk.

He was going to profit from this, whether Albus knew it or not…he had bitten off more than he could chew.

**Author's notes**

**Vitae is the 'blood' of Vampires. Vitae can be 'controlled' by Vampire's will. This means that shooting a Vampire does not make them bleed, unless they wish for it. At the same time once ingested, the blood turns into Vitae instantaneously. Then it's just as easy to 'regurgitate' it out.**

**Vitae of a Vampire has special qualities. It tastes sweetly and is highly addictive, so much that those dependent on it act like junkies most of the time. There are of course different 'levels' of 'bonding'. First tier, second tier and third tier. The third tier is 'absolute' control. 'Shoot yourself in the leg' 'Kill your son' 'slaughter your family' are all third tier commands that can be given. A 'bonded' person is NOT a ghoul.**

**A ghoul requires an expenditure of Willpower during creation. A ghoul may learn Potence and many other Disciplines that belong to Vampires. A ghoul can use blood of the vampire to heal itself.**

**Dominate at tier one is 'single command' action. Dominate at tier three is 'command given within a sentence'. **

**A Giovanni has Dominate, Potence and Necromancy as 'blood' disciplines. Necromancy is divided into 'paths'. The Dunsirn are the cannibalistic Giovanni Bankers. Ambrogino Giovanni is the Scholar of the Giovanni family. **

**The Shadowlands are the realm of the dead. The 'Skinlands' is how the wraiths call the realm of the living. The Shroud is what separates the two. (The Giovanni's main purpose is tearing it down completely)**

**The Giovanni family (With surname Giovanni) is the 'main' caste of the family. 'Dunsirn' is sort of a branch.**

**Harry has 'diablerized' the Dunsirn who turned him, if it wasn't understood. As such he is not a last generation vampire, but one a tier above. (Diablerie does come with negative things, like loss of humanity)**

**Humanity is what keeps a Vampire sane. A Vampire with 7 of humanity is 'normal' human. A Vampire with 5 is 'normal' vampire. A vampire with 3 is becoming the Beast. (Vampires on lower are Kill on Sight to protect the Masquerade.)**

**The Camarilla thus uses the excuse of the feral vampires to have the wizards kill them. **

**Enough of World of Darkness explanations.**

**The 'cup is a portkey' thing is probably reasonable ONLY if indeed it was originally thought of as a: get out of the labyrinth quickly. Reason for which Albus 'punctured' a hole in the anti-portkey wards to get the winner out of there…Crouch then changed the cup's destination to Voldemort's cemetery. Of course the teachers had to know from the beginning, hence the why Crouch wanted Harry to reach the end of the tournament. (And could help him easily since he already knew what the tests were)**


	4. The Downpour of Blood

Grey clouds loomed. Lillian's gaze, as he began his lesson, seemed fixed on his eyes. He ignored it, his hand deftly writing on the chalkboard the passages to distinguish an Inferi from a Zombie. The two undead types were truly similar, except that the Inferi could die only if burned, and even beheaded it still kept some functionality. The Zombie on the other hand would stop only with its brains reduced to splatter: anything less and it would still be able to attack and function.

He had half expected Lillian to throw a fit, or say something of any sorts. Instead the girl said nothing, merely taking notes and quietly following the lesson. Harry merely scoffed mentally, and did nothing. He wasn't like Snape, who took every turn to act against the girl…only because he was actually unable to _not_ see Lily in the girl's face. He grinned slightly. The reason he would give detentions to the girl and pass them to Professor Snape was essentially that.

The potions' master had made him live a hell of seven years: it seemed just the right thing to return the favor. The lesson finished without accidents, and as he began to put his notes back into his bag, he realized Lillian wasn't leaving still. Maybe the girl had finally gathered the courage to ask back the cloak? He ground his teeth slightly, gazing at the teen in wait.

Lillian gulped down nervously, before taking a few steps forward. He raised an eyebrow and the girl seemingly froze on the spot. He was just about to nod and encourage the girl to take another step forward, when the girl decided to do it on her own.

"Professor," the girl hesitantly said, "May I have my cloak back?"

"No." He replied calmly.

"B-But!" she spluttered, probably not expecting his curt and to the point 'no'.

"Miss Potter, do you know there are people out there who want to kill you?" he queried, his voice quiet and monotone.

"I…"

"You do then," he nodded to himself, "And yet you insist on acting like a spoiled child? The cloak is a dangerous breach of security: you have already abused its uses. Thus I am not at all keen in letting you use it again."

"It's the last thing I have of my parents!" Lillian blurted out, her hands clenching. "Please, Harry. Please! I'm not asking for—"

"Miss Potter," Harry snapped back, "Refrain from being overly familiar with your professor."

The girl was at a loss of words, but in the end she just bit her lip and nodded.

"Can we go to Azkaban?" She suddenly asked, her eyes turning to a sort of puppy-eye look. He brought up an eyebrow in answer to that.

"Why should we go there?"

"I want to talk with Sirius." The girl answered back. "I want to know why he did that. Why he betrayed dad and mum."

"In Azkaban?"

"He's in there, isn't he?" He twitched his right hand, closing and opening it as he remembered precisely what he had heard from his contacts in England during the time.

"Even if he is, why should I care? Azkaban isn't a place for the likes of you, Girl-Who-Lived." He commented offhandedly. "Peter died trying to avenge your parents. Yet you still want to ask the Black for a _why_?"

Lillian said nothing, but just stared at him with a plea in her gaze that would have probably moved the very rocks…but that could not move him, undead.

"When I was bitten, I overheard him talking to our father," he replied calmly. "Do you know what he said? 'James, that monster shouldn't stay in your house! It's dangerous!' I wasn't his godchild to begin with, you know that? Peter was my godfather. Yet he died, and all you think about is Sirius."

"He failed then, and mum and dad are dead, but maybe he was tortured! Maybe he didn't want to do that!" Lillian screamed back at him. His beast roared at the confrontation, as his right hand shot forward and clasped tightly against the girl's neck. He hissed and snarled as he pulled the girl upwards, starting to choke the life out of her with a single hand.

"Do not patronize me!" He screamed. "Everyone is sacrificed for your safety, and all you do with it is put yourself in danger! In your second year I was bitten protecting you during your summer escapades to the Weasleys! What did I get back for it? A stamp of monster and a dishonourable discharge!" He pushed her against the wall of the classroom, his gaze murderous.

"You think you're special? What about those who bled and died for you? Huh? Do you care for them? Do you even care that Peter fought off Sirius in the middle of a muggle street and was _pulverized_!? Do you care that all that his mother has to bury are ashes and a single finger!?"

"You're hurting me." Lillian mumbled, her breath starting to hitch. Harry flared his nostrils, his beast literally tearing apart its cage, trying to emerge and chew and bite upon the pitiful excuse of a girl he had in front of him. He felt bile rise to his throat, only he knew it wasn't bile.

"No. I haven't yet started hurting you." He whispered back. Then blood rose to his throat, and he pressed his lips against those of his sister. His will burned as his eyes remained open and transfixed upon the shocked and scared gaze of his sister. As his vitae poured down the girl's throat, the girl nearly choked. He dropped her then, the back of his right hand moving to clean his lips of the regurgitated blood.

"Now Lillian, are you hurt?" he asked with a mocking tone.

"N-No." She stuttered, her legs wobbling as she slowly stood back up. He hadn't given her only a single dose of Vitae. He was well fed that night, but even then he knew the bond would need at least three nights to fully mature. Till then, he saw with an amused gaze as the wounds on the girl's neck slowly began to disappear. He was protecting her now: giving unto the girl the gift of _Ghouldom_.

The Power the Dark Lord knows not.

Well, he was in for a nice surprise.

"Do not speak of this with anyone else." He stated, and with the fright in his sister's eyes he delighted himself in knowing that, indeed, she would obey without the need for him to use a…Discipline. The bounds of blood always transfixed their targets into a…a sort of 'state' if such could be called.

Use fear and the ghoul would fear. Use love and the ghoul would love. Use anger and the ghoul would hate. The latter one was something no sane of mind Vampire ever used, but the first too? The first too were the most common. Respect was the rarest: it wasn't a rule, but vampires usually drank from opposite genders, because the act of the 'kiss' as it was called was a highly…pleasurable one.

So why have Respect, when Love was easier to have?

And why have Love, when Fear was easier to use?

He heard his beast grumble, slightly appeased by the violence but not enough —never enough— to fully stop growling. He slumped down his shoulders as he brought his back against the wall, heavily breathing as he clutched his chest.

Sirius Black had been the Secret Keeper of the Fidelius that protected their house against Voldemort and his forces. Then, during the summer of Third Year he had delivered the information to Voldemort's side. Voldemort had attacked and yet Lillian had survived with not even a scratch. The man had been practically destroyed, and yet his forces had still insisted on looking for her, the 'Girl-Who-Lived'.

He knew of the prophecy revolving around the girl of course: why else would he need to train day and night during his youth, if not to protect his sister from the evil Dark Lord? He believed himself a knight in shining armour, going off to train to then slay dragons.

A pathetic imbecile with no brains was what he truly had been at the time.

He had been trained, rendered useless by a charm and then discarded like a broken tool.

And they still wondered why hatred was the only thing he felt for his parents, and they still had to ask why he loathed the Girl-Who-Lived. The girl _had it all_. She had people ready to die for her, she had people ready to lie, to bring forth her arguments, to defend her, to go as far as walk into a lion's den just to get her a bodyguard…and yet she _dared_ ask for _more_.

His beast was on a rampage of murderous fury.

His hands clenched and opened rhythmically, following his desires of bloodshed and death. The howls grew just as he barely managed to grasp with his hands the closest desk. He roared once, without even understanding if it had been his voice or that of his beast to do so.

Then the desk splintered and broke, and by the time he regained his true semblance of self, he had ravaged the classroom beyond recognition.

He frowned, before calmly settling the tattered remains of his robes, probably torn apart in the destruction he had caused. The clothes beneath were still intact, a small miracle judging by how even the walls had been apparently scratched.

The door hadn't opened; thankfully the castle's wards had decided to isolate him within the room until the storm had passed.

He was also thankful nobody else had seen him. It was a grave lack of composure, and a display of weakness, to let the beast out to play.

Harry carefully began to look through the wreckage for his Professor's notes, before heading out once he had collected them all. He walked along the hallways in silence, reaching for his office and not at all surprised to already see the red haired Susan standing outside it. Her face was flushed and she seemed to be waiting for him. Neville was standing just next to her, his jaw set and his eyes seemingly torn between saying and not saying something. Harry knew the boy had merely followed along.

"I've got Neville to come and talk with you, Professor." Susan said, "I'll…I'll leave you two alone."

The girl then turned to leave, and as she did that Harry gestured for Neville to come inside the office. The boy followed, albeit he blurted out the second the door closed.

"I am not going to back off."

Harry merely brought up an eyebrow, before nodding sagely.

"I understand." He replied. "I am not going to dissuade you." He walked over to his desk, and sat down calmly. "I am sure there is a lot of excitement going on, concerning what the Triwizard tournament would be about." He nimbly tapped upon a particular sheet on his desk, the one specifying the selected tasks.

Neville's eyes went to it, and then they widened in surprise.

"I don't want help!"

"I am not giving it." He answered back. "I am letting you choose without constraints, limits or regulations… the freedom of choice and its consequences." The professor shrugged. "I might have something to do out of here however," he replied as he grabbed his goblet and drank from it, before slowly walking towards the door.

"How about you think, truly think about it here and now, and then decide for yourself after a few minutes of…_careful consideration_?" He walked out then, closing the door behind him and smiling gingerly.

Human nature was made of curiosity. Anything else that was said on it was pure stupidity or imbeciles trying to act like psychiatrists.

When there is a scratching sound in the night, you go and investigate. When there is a howl in the alley, you give a peek. When there is a humming sound in a room, you go and look. When something ticks, you look for the clock. When something snarls, you aim for the closest weapon. And when someone gives you the solution to your problems…you look at them because you can then safely say 'oh, I looked but I knew them beforehand'. Humanity wasn't made of saints.

He waited, five minutes, until the handle of the door opened to reveal an ashen white Neville.

"Oh well, _don't talk about this to anyone else Neville_." He commented, the boy's mind so easily mendable now that it was in shock, "And the only suggestion I can give you is…_do_ not _compete_."

"Yeah…I'll do that, Professor —Thanks, Harry." Neville blurted out quickly, and then he left him to go and get back to the Hufflepuff common room.

He waited, his back near the door entrance, until Susan's figure appeared from behind the corner, quietly walking closer to him with tears in her eyes.

"Thank you." She replied. He nodded; gesturing for the girl closer as his seemingly refilling goblet was drank up again. He could wait one week, before reapplying the bond of servitude that was the Vitae. He could wait one week, before bringing the bond up to the second level…but such a splendid occasion? Adding to the Respect the Trust? How could he merely refuse such a chance?

And he did just that the moment she came close enough to him. He was starting to get tired of kissing people only to regurgitate Vitae in their throats, but the other solution was messy, and consisted in deliberately slicing his wrist. There was a reason Ghoulizing someone was called 'Proxy Kiss' in the Giovanni family, albeit those types of Ghoul ceremonies usually ended up in majestic orgies or literally killed the Ghoul throughout them.

The girl now looked at him with surprise and desire, the Vitae working through her veins, coming within her body and tainting her very _soul_. The Vampire's darkness was not just some sort of romanced stuff: Vampires held a taint, a true evil that bypassed the mere conventions of laws or morality. It wasn't as if there was some sort of Poe's description attached to it.

The Evil of Vampires went beyond the mere narrative.

It went beyond saying something corny like 'The Darkness spread throughout the soul of the innocent, corrupting and tainting all that it touched.'

The true Evil went beyond that, beyond consideration or realization. It wasn't a withering of the flesh or a decaying of the limbs…no, it was the ethereal beauty of continual and unlimited perfection. The beauty of the Kindred was not how evil their souls were…but how unblemished their bodies appeared. It wasn't how they acted, but how they could don their masks nicely. It wasn't about what they did, but what they _appeared_ to be doing.

The smiling paedophile, the elderly cannibalistic granny, the kind-hearted serial killer that looked like Santa Claus, the average Salary-man that raped people in the alleys and much more paled in comparison to what a Vampire truly _could become_. When the twitch of a finger could annihilate a country, bringing forth a war of epic proportions only because someone wanted more money through arms dealings…when thousands upon thousands _died_ and _nobody felt a damn thing for it_, that was the evil of Vampires.

And Vampires were innocent. They did not pull triggers. They did not directly give orders. They just let others assume they had given suggestions that should be followed…maybe.

But the 'maybe' became an order the moment it was spoken.

And that, by itself, was the true beauty of real evil. People didn't need to be pressured in doing evil. People did evil like it was their second nature. They only needed justification, of any type, sort or kind. They only needed someone to tell them 'go and do it, it's not evil'…and they went. They played with kids because it wasn't evil to have fun. They ate people because it wasn't evil to feed. They killed people because it wasn't evil to punish bad boys. They raped people because it wasn't evil to give them what they wanted. They began wars…because it wasn't evil to earn money.

Morality, conscience, laws…everything was, in the end, completely _meaningless_ to a Vampire. Eternity, powers beyond imagination, and all in exchange of time. Surviving hundreds upon hundreds of years, there were vampires as old as Ciceron who could talk to the crowds with the same verve as Hitler during his speeches to the Nazi party.

Yet Vampires, in the end, couldn't be classified as Evil.

And that was the truth.

The sheer indescribable truth of the matter was that Vampires had _no choice_ on the matter. They were just surviving. Night after they night they walked the streets of the cities in search of shelter and food, fending off others who sought the same thing and fighting one another for it.

True, unblemished evil wasn't killing a puppy or drowning a child. It was doing those things and _not caring one bit about it_. It was doing it because of _habit_, with no purpose, no return of interest, nothing but merely _because they could_.

That was the true problem. Vampires didn't care. The Giovanni's law was Profit. The Gangrel's law was 'be the biggest dog'. The Ventrue was 'be the smartest one'. The Daeva was 'be the prettiest'. The Nosferatu was 'be the most informed'. The Brujah was the 'party until you die'. All clans, all kindred, they all had their own rules and decisions…but they didn't have to follow them.

And they didn't feel compelled to do so either. They did because the Camarilla made some things easier and some harder. They did because it was the smartest thing to do, because some laws were better than none, and because in absolute chaos there would just be no way to survive the night.

The concepts of Elysium, of safe haven, or Court, meant only to those who wished they held a meaning. Like debts: he was not actually compelled by magic, power of arms, strength or anything else to protect Lillian. He was the one giving meaning to it, it wasn't as if he'd die if he just snapped the girl's neck.

But if he did that, if he betrayed his own word, then he'd lose something. And then it would be easier to lose something else.

And it would be a downwards spiral into the Beast.

And the Beast knew it of course; the Beast purred and happily gurgled every time something of Human was lost.

That was the truth on Vampires.

Whoever believed in shitty romances or romantic ideals of 'hurtful souls in need of help' had probably the need of a meeting with a stake through the head.

Evil was evil. Its name was Beast.

Harry merely kissed Susan on the forehead then, before suavely speaking.

"Whenever you need me, I'll be here." He smiled, warmly and kindly _because he could_. He looked with amusement displayed on his face_, because he could_, at Susan's flustered appearance. He grinned when the girl nodded with her face completely red from embarrassment, the blood rushing to her cheeks as she turned and left quickly.

He smiled.

Not because he was amused.

Not because he was winning this game rigged from the start.

No, only because, just like evil, _he could_.

And as the girl disappeared, turning the corner, he returned to his office.

"The boy read it." The painting informed him. "You know you should tell the Headmaster: it would be unfair for him to compete."

Harry shrugged back. "I'm pretty sure he isn't going to compete." A lie, a lie that rolled off with incredible ease from his tongue was out, and he felt nothing for it.

"And what if he tells someone else?"

"He won't. He's the right sort: he just didn't know what he was going to end up in. If he does, I'll tell the Headmaster." He murmured, looking back at his chalice, already filled once more. He narrowed his eyes.

He began to slowly make the blood move around in circles, hearing its tell-tale sloshing noise. He could feel the beast riled up, since that was blood after all. He sniffed at it again.

He narrowed his eyes even more.

He grasped at the chalice and slowly, calmly, left it on the desk.

"I'll be out and about." He said, turning to look at the painting. "The night is still young."

"Best of lucks," the Vampire replied with a knowing look, a small smile on its make-up covered face.

"_Best of hunts_," the beast whispered to itself.

One could not conjure food.

Blood was not a food, and like any other conjured stuff, it tended to disappear after a few days. Of course keeping up on his 'drinking' would entail him slowly but surely ending up filled only with conjured blood. He had no doubt it would fail to even transform properly into Vitae. He was working on a backburner: that was probably why the beast had riled up earlier with his sister's words. Here he was thinking it had been just the intensity of her words.

His beast was hungry.

The stairs held no paintings, and as he began to walk calmly through them, he waited. Now, if memory served him well…

"Meow," the meowing sound of Mrs. Norris reached his ears like a well-played tune. The cat was half kneazle and far too smart for its own good. The moment her eyes settled on him, along the circular stairway that held no paintings…

The cat's last sight was probably of a pair of pointy white teeth sinking deep into her fur.

The next night, Harry awoke from his slumber feeling _refreshed_. Actually, he just felt the need to believe himself to be refreshed, but in the end it amounted to the same thing. He stood up, heading with a calm and collected face to the dining hall, where dinner was meant to be served.

He sat down together with the other professors, surprised that indeed Snape was actually missing from the start. He said nothing, as his eyes began to scan the crowd. He was planning the hunt now.

"Mister Potter," the stern voice of the deputy headmistress reached him, "Might I ask if you saw someone being tardy, last night in the dungeons?"

He brought up an eyebrow at that question.

"No, I haven't. Is something the problem, Professor?" he asked, looking at the tightly clenched jaw of the old woman, who seemed to be barely repressing her anger.

"Last night, some foolish student killed Argus' cat, Mrs. Norris: they then proceeded to write on the stairways pureblood slander."

"Oh my," he replied with a worried expression. "That is most troublesome," he acquiesced. "Unfortunately I did not see anything. The only students I saw were Prefect Bones and Mister Longbottom."

"I see." There was a tightly contained nod from the elderly Irishwoman, before she returned to her dinner.

He calmly brought his gaze to where Susan was sitting. The girl was stealing bashful glances at him, like a fallen in love girl. Maybe she was even drawing little hearts with their names attached together. His gaze went to Lillian, and the scene was sort of the same, and yet different altogether. The girl was giving tentative and scared glances in his direction, drawn by the lull of Vitae within her body and yet repulsed by the fear the bond had cemented in her soul. At the same time the bond itself called to her once more, making her wish for his attention.

It was the love-fear reaction typical of abused children: he could just give his sister a hug, and she would undoubtedly tear down mountains for him afterwards.

Of course he would not.

But he could use her as a politically important chess piece to rise in the ministry. The Girl-Who-Lived, working for Vampire equality? A masterfully placed plan could have her, in the long run, to reach the position of Prime Minister...and as long as no Embraces were considered, the law wouldn't care for him.

Vampires could pretty much meddle with the humans without risks, as long as they did not meddle with those under another's vampire control, and even then the circumstances were rare where one would outright attack other kindred because of it.

The Embrace, however, required direct permission from whoever was in charge of the city itself. To embrace without permission was such an unfathomable affront of the Masquerade and of the Traditions that death was actually the least of worries.

His eyes returned to the matters at hand. He looked at the students, their tables and their mannerisms. The first years were bashful, but unfortunately had to be out of the list. He couldn't pretty much talk with them without an excuse ready. The third years upwards were a safer bet: elective changes could still be made at the beginning, and he had no doubt he could convince quite a few…blood dolls, to change.

He scanned the upper years, those who were just on their final years, already preparing themselves for a world outside of politics or hard work.

Schools were places where the young were instructed, where professors moulded their youth and made them into people and adults…schools were the birthing grounds of new individuals…and to a politically minded Vampire schools were like a market where the ripe fruits had to be carefully selected.

Draco Malfoy could be interesting, but he was a male and personally, he avoided males. Respect, even with blood, could easily degenerate into a mere junkie addiction. Females were easier to tide over and control. A hard romance, a terrific problem of the soul, and an 'I'm not read yet to go public' were all things what stemmed the tide that controlled how much was 'love' and how much was 'addiction'.

He locked eyes with a pale blond haired girl in fourth year, Daphne Greengrass. She could do as a blood doll, and her cold attitude seemed to have displaced her towards the sides of the chain of Slytherin. Maybe she was in need of a confidant, of a kind hearted soul who would melt away her heart?

His gaze then travelled to the Ravenclaws, where sixth-year Luna was gazing with a half-empty stare at Lillian. The moment his eyes went to her, she turned and stared at him. For a moment, neither flinched or averted the stare down. Her silvery grey eyes seemed to be locked on him, albeit the face remained impassive, there was a sort of stern setting of the cheekbones. He raised an eyebrow at that, and she merely took a small breath in reply.

He grinned slightly, and she tightened the grip on her silverware.

He made a small and kind smile, and she outright averted her gaze then.

She was going to be a victim before the year ended.

His face softened as it rested upon Ginny Weasley, sixth year and apparently a star-struck fan of the Girl-Who-Lived. He could use her, of course.

Then his eyes went to an ignored girl in third year of Hufflepuff. She had brown curtained hair and blue eyes, and seemed to be standing on her own within the house of the loyal…which actually enticed his interest.

He had enough blood dolls pinned down for the moment, and if the need arose to have more…well, he could always start on working on the first years.

He smiled and purposefully ignored the look devoid of twinkling that Dumbledore sent him. Maybe the man was starting to suspect what he had just brought within the castle, or maybe he was just eying him after his display with the Ravenclaw girl…

But he could try and try for as long as he wanted: he would not stop the events.

A dark storm was approaching Hogwarts, and the old Headmaster could do nothing to stop it. For the first time in the history of the school, a vampire had free reign, as a professor nonetheless, within it.

The results yielded from merely being in the school could already be counted, and if only he could get the house elves to collaborate on delivering to him fresh blood rather than the conjured one…he absent-mindedly drank from the goblet, and noticing how Dumbledore's posture relaxed he understood what the man was thinking.

Kept on conjured blood, he probably believed him unable to do anything else once he would find out. After all the conjurer could remove the blood with a mere finite incantatem, and a vampire without blood was just a corpse waiting to be turned to ashes by the Torpor.

He could respect the Machiavellian thought, albeit incomplete and crass: he should have taken into account the Beast's whims…for the beast could not be fooled. He could start a 'study with the professor' club, having them in one of the abandoned classrooms…

He flexed his fingers, keeping his posture and face completely relaxed and normal-looking, as he barely leaned against the chair in wait for the dinner to be over with.

It was then, that he heard the voice of Dumbledore reach his ears.

"Professor Potter, would you mind coming with me to my office for a chat, afterwards?"

And he couldn't help but make a slight smiling face, as he addressed back the crux of all his problems.

"Of course, Headmaster."

**Author's notes**

**And another chapter is done. Someone (noticed) the incongruence with Sirius in Azkaban and alive Potters. Well, the answer is pretty much simpler: the events are traslated in a more future approach. (Meaning the Dark Lord was recently killed and Lillian became the Girl-Who-Lived recently) before that, Harry protected her because she was the 'prophecy' child. And Peter is Harry's godfather.**

**There is a difference between Ghoul servitude and Blood servitude. **

**The description of 'Evil' in Vampire can be more aptly described with the simple term of 'ignorance of evil is worse than actually being evil'. Vampires don't feel evil if their morality is law. Literally: a 3 humanity vampire needs to Constantly rape, torture and kill to even lose the point that sends him to the beast, and if he doesn't, then what he is doing DOES NOT AFFECT HIM emotionally or in any way. Trigger happy doesn't even describe it, because they simply 'aren't' happy. They just...do it. Like Orange Clockwork without people laughing, but doing it all with a mute film and in black and white.**


	5. The Drowning of the Innocents

Grey clouds loomed. Albus Dumbledore's face was a mixture of grim determination and clenched jaws. His beard was loosely hanging on his vest, and his hands clasped together in a thoughtful-like position displayed his seriousness. Harry merely smiled, as he took the seat in front of the Headmaster. In the corner, Fawkes squawked like a badly choked turkey, before disappearing in a cascade of flames to reappear on the man's shoulder. The Vampire merely hissed slightly at the sight of the fire-bird, mostly because of the fiery plumage than because of its 'reportedly' pureness of heart. No-one could be pure in the world.

No-one could _remain_ pure in this world.

A slight movement of his head to the side, just as if he was distending his neck, had the phoenix squawk again and open her wings, before batting them close a moment later.

"She doesn't like me," he mocked. "I feel sad." He feigned removing an invisible tear. "What will I do now?"

"Mister Potter," Albus began calmly. "What have you done?"

"To whom?" he asked back. "And when?" he added as an afterthought.

"We are not playing games, Mister Potter. You have a debt to repay, a Life Debt. So what did you force Lillian to ingest?"

Harry brought up an eyebrow at that. "I beg your pardon?" he asked back —feigning ignorance always worked in getting the opposition on edge— as he carefully looked at his nails.

"Mister Potter!" Albus roared, his hands slamming on the desk. "You will tell me what you gave to your sister right now!"

"And how would I know what you're talking of, if I never did give something to my sister?" he replied calmly. "I mean, I didn't give her _anything_." The lie came out so easily he actually had to repress the urge to grin. Meanwhile, his mind was already dealing with the reason the Headmaster had called him on. Lillian clearly hadn't talked, and he doubted the old wizard himself would have actually seen something more than a mere him kissing his sister. The Headmaster couldn't be so explicit unless…

"Ah…I see." Harry smiled gently. "Severus is worried, isn't he?"

"Mister Potter, we are not discussing Severus' worries at the moment: we are—"

"The conjured blood," Harry replied, "that too was Severus' idea?" he smiled slightly wider, before making a light chuckle. "Come on, Headmaster…you can tell me."

Fawkes squawked once more, sharply this time. It sounded like chalkboard being the subject of a concerto of nails, grates and glass shards to his ears. He hissed once more to the phoenix. "Can't you keep that animal _quiet_?"

"Severus' did foresee the need to have a safety measure in place. He assured me it would still sustain you, but we are not discussing—"

"Thanks to that imbecile, I nearly killed my sister." He retorted sharply, his eyes narrowing as he managed to convey the necessary anger. "You should ask the Vampire rather than the man, for if he hasn't his facts straights he might just do the exact opposite of what he needs to do."

"If the Vampire was helpful rather than mysterious, then maybe I would." Albus replied.

"Conjured blood satiates me, but does not satiate my urge. The blood needs to be real: it cannot be called forth with magic. I was about to give in to my hunger, but thankfully I managed to get Miss Potter out of there in time."

"And what does that have—"

"I'm getting there," he replied sharply, interrupting the headmaster's words. "I thought it would be easier to grant her…a temporary boon, in case I did not manage to hold off my instincts long enough to get her out of the classroom. It should disappear within the day with no side-effects."

"But _what_ did you give her?"

"Blood," Harry replied, mentally inserting in his checklist Severus Snape as a man to kill in the most drastic and painful way —possibly with the use of white phosphor, or maybe something inhuman like a mine. It could even be a fun thing: Severus entering the dungeon, billowing his cape, saying the words 'you dunder-' and going boom as he stepped on the mine. He would mentally scar whoever was among the class…but it _would_ be worth it.

"Blood?"

"You knew it from the beginning, didn't you, Headmaster? So why are you feigning ignorance?" Harry quietly turned to gaze out of the window; the dark clouds looming in the sky seemed to be slowly condensing into a storm the more time passed.

"Mister Potter, have you done this to other students?"

"Why would I?" he retorted. "Headmaster…" he smiled, "I am a man of the world, you understand? As long as I get what I want, nobody has to be hurt."

"And maybe you should, maybe you should…but I can't help but hope you will see the light, Mister Potter."

"The light…it's nothing more than a bulb charged with the blood of the innocent and the sheep, Albus. You haven't seen what hides beneath the wall, what slowly rots its way through the floor, what slither and lurk its way up the stairs, what peers in through the crack of the door…" Harry moved his face forward slightly, pulling his arms together and clasping his hands. "You have no idea of what the darkness truly hides…pitiful fool. Voldemort is nothing more than a figurehead; you have no idea what true evil hides behind the smiles of your friends…and you will never know."

Harry took a deep breath, before standing up and turning to leave. "Trust me, Dumbledore…or maybe don't, I don't care. Know this however: you called me here and you alone can now claim the debt repaid. Until you do…everything that happens, everything that will happen…that will be _your fault alone_."

"Mister Potter! We aren't finished yet!" The door slammed shut in front of him as Harry turned around, his smile feral and his eyes narrowed.

"Yes we are, Headmaster! Be careful what you ask, for the answers will guide you to hell, whether you know or not, there are rules and there are laws you cannot even comprehend! Gellert wasn't a king, but a pawn! You are no hero of the light, but a Deus Ex Machina of someone grander! The strings that pull you pitiful puppets are a delight to watch unfold! Seeing them makes me shiver with desire! The desire to cut them, to chop them, to feast on your ideals, on your biased and incomplete knowledge and send it all in the depths of darkness where it belongs! So ask! Ask away, Dumbledore…but wonder and query…you are not the first to ask…so what happened to those before you!?" As Harry's face looked a mixture of pure ecstasy and delight, his half-crazed look and shivering skin making him look like a pianist who just finished a difficult son, Albus' own was ashen.

"What have they done to you, Harry?" the Headmaster whispered to himself, his eyes watery from sadness and grief. "What are you talking about?"

"A World of Darkness, Albus… A World of Darkness where you mean nothing, where Voldemort is nothing, where Gellert, the ministry, Fudge, the Girl-Who-Lived bullshit means nothing…a world where the highest grace…is death."

"You can go, Harry," Albus whispered. "Just…go and give your lessons, but do not harm anyone in the school Harry…or I will have to give you peace."

"I'm afraid that chance has been taken away years ago." Harry chuckled grimly. "All that remains now is nothing more than the taste of ashes and blood."

And then Harry turned and left, leaving behind a thoroughly shocked Dumbledore and a crying Fawkes. Such was the game of Theatrics after all. If the wizard tried to peek through the veil of the Masquerade, if he tried to remove a mask...then he would undoubtedly fail and be eaten whole.

It was _because_ the man was Dumbledore that Harry was sure someone would be found. He didn't have to tell that to the old wizard however, and he had deftly dodged the bullet on the consequences of his actions. Maybe, once the man had calmed down, he would ask again. That time however he would be more prepared. He wasn't surprised when Susan met him outside of his classroom, her gaze hesitant and her hands twiddling together in embarrassment.

"Susan?"

"Har— Professor," she called him with a small smile, "I…well, I wanted to thank you for Neville, and…" her voice trailed off, as she blushed furiously and looked sideways.

"It's been a pleasure, Susan. Is there anything else?" he kindly asked, a smile already on his lips. The girl blushed and stammered a quick and meek no, before running away embarrassedly.

He merely smiled a bit more at such a display, before entering his class. The students remained quiet during the entire lesson, listening with rapt attention, or probably just tired from the late hour and asleep, as he spoke. Once the lesson was over, he collected his stuff and left for his office. He wasn't surprised to find it open, nor was he surprised to find Lillian in there. He was surprised to find her holding onto a stuffed stag toy.

"Miss Potter?" he asked as he saw her slightly jump. The girl looked at him with a slightly frightened gaze, holding the stuffed toy tightly.

"P-Professor…this is…this is Prongslet." The girl whispered, gently caressing the head of the stuffed toy. Harry raised an eyebrow. "I…I thought you'd like…you'd like having it, must be lonely during…during the day but if you don't want—"

He blinked. The girl was giving him a gift, seeking approval. This was really just like a Ghoul acting out of love. It was probably the twisted form of it, but just to verify it…he moved closer, and brought his right hand down to pat the girl's head. Lillian's entire body froze in fear for a moment, before slowly melting away as the girl closed her eyes and pushed her head closer to his hand.

He blinked again at that.

He had thought he had managed to scare the girl, before ghoulizing her. He hadn't thought about giving the Vitae to her through a kiss would hold these implications. It was the 'abused woman' relationship. He could probably slap her and break her nose, and she still would defend him. The girl actually began to purr lightly, mumbling in happiness.

He eyed the painting of the vampire on the wall. "Can you give us some privacy?"

The painting rolled his eyes and walked out, mumbling something about 'in my times…'

Harry reclined Lillian's head back, exposing her soft neck veins. He locked eyes with the girl, and then kissed her again, filling her mouth with a second dosage of blood. The blood filled her veins, and as her eyes locked into his, he smiled tenderly, before whispering the words of command.

"_Don't scream."_

A vampire's kiss was something that came out of a hedonist's wet dream. The Kiss gave an orgasm-like sensation of bliss and fulfilment as blood was drained out of the victim's body. The writhing mortal was forever tainted by the act, desiring more eventually if he was left with the memory of what had happened. A Giovanni however…

A Giovanni's Kiss was not pleasurable. It was their curse, the curse of their clan for the betrayal of Augustus to his sire…or maybe the curse of Cain himself to the blood of Cappadocius. The end result was the same: the kiss of a Giovanni was not pleasurable in the least…

It was hellish.

Lillian's eyes widened as she bucked under his grasp, the feeling of pure pain flaring through the girl's body as it tried to no avail to push him away. His vampire strength held her there, as he drank from her neck. That pain was the same he had felt in the last instants of his life. The same pain, the same horror, the same death…and yet he had come back to live again, as nothing more than the same beast that had killed him.

That feeling of pain…

It was indescribable. Iron rods slammed into a body's nerves, a thousands of Crucios and maybe even a scorching fire lit within the bones…those were nothing compared to the pain the Kiss of a Giovanni was. Yet Lillian, for all her struggling, didn't scream.

Then it was over, and with a quick lick, the twin holes on the side of her neck were closed. The girl panted hard, her face a mixture of sweat and pain as she fell on the ground exhausted.

Harry smiled as she patted the girl's head once more, before returning to his desk.

"You can keep your toy." _I have mine after all._ He eyed critically the girl as she stood up wobbling, before making her way outside. She'd recover her loss of blood within a few days, and until then his beast would be appeased.

He stood up, his work done.

Time would tell if everything would go as planned.

The next day, he woke up with the noise of someone rattling away the locks and chains of his office. He blearily stood up, closing his eyes for a moment as he brought his back against the wall in wait. His beast roared and grumbled, as the blood used to wake him went to waste. A minute later and Ron Weasley waltzed in with his wand ready to strike.

"I knew it!" he yelled, making him wince.

"Mister Weasley?" he asked calmly.

"You did something to Lillian, didn't you?" the Weasley asked. "She doesn't want to go to Hogsmeade today! She never refused going to Hogsmeade before!"

"RON!" the familiar voice of his sister soon came in, as she entered in a hurry after him. "Leave my brother alone!"

"Mister Weasley," Harry commented, bringing his right hand in front of his face. "I'm not in the mood for your childish behaviours. That will be fifty points from Gryffindor, and three months detention with Filch for trying to bully your way with a professor." He narrowed his eyes, a sneer on his face.

"I'm not going to stand here and let you dark monster—"

"Don't insult my brother!" Lillian's screech was soon met with the girl grasping Ron's robes and flinging him on the other side of the room. Harry brought up an eyebrow at that, slowly settling his beast who was already seeking to gut the red haired boy out. It was day-time, and so he was at his weakest.

Ron hit the wall with a loud thud, and fell on the ground like a lifeless puppet with the strings cut. He didn't remain there long however, as he slowly wobbled back up a few moments later.

"Ouch! Bloody hell Lillian, I'm trying to—"

"I don't want to go to Hogsmeade, Ron!" the girl screamed at him. "My parents _died_! There are people after me! How selfish would I be if I went!?"

To those words, Harry smiled as he slowly took a few steps to stand behind Lillian, putting his hands on the girl's shoulders. He gently half-closed his eyes, as he pleasantly said.

"Well done, Lillian. Well done." He then encircled the girl with his arms, letting his chin drop gently on the girl's hair. "You see, Mister Weasley? This is the difference between an _adult_ and a _kid_. You have much to understand, but considering your age…I wonder if I should push for your expulsion too."

The boy sputtered, as he tried to reply to a rhetoric question.

"For this time, I will let you go," he remarked. "Try this pathetic stunt again however…and expulsion will be the last of your problems, Mister Weasley."

The boy nodded fretfully, as it darted out in fear. Harry returned to Lillian, who had instead now turned with a blush on her face to look at him.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. "He shouldn't have—"

"It doesn't matter." Harry's reply was curt as the vampire stopped acting like a fond older brother and returned to his usual stern self. "You did well. How is your homework going?"

She winced, looking to the side and averting his gaze. "Fine," she pouted.

"Lillian."

"I…I haven't started it yet. Sunday is—"

"That is unacceptable," Harry said. "You will go back upstairs, take your homework and come down here once more." Her eyes lit up at the mention of spending time with him. "And I hope I make myself clear when I mean that I don't want you to skive off."

The girl nodded meekly, before running off in a hurry again.

She hadn't realized her use of his blood in lifting and flinging across the room the older boy, but after all he hadn't pointed it out. Ghouls were unluckily simple-minded unless directed. Since he hadn't actually made a Ghoul out of a finance Guru or someone smart enough to rival Einstein, he had to contend with that simple and hormonal mentality of a teenager.

He'd have to live through it for a while, at least until such a time as when the Life Debt would be paid. Then he would use the girl as a leverage for control in Great Britain…and if that failed, he'd bring her back to the Chez 'Arry to work as a waitress.

Everything was a resource just waiting to be used after all.

He cleaned his desk, leaving enough space for the two of them to comfortably work on it. The door swung open again, but this time it was Hermione who stepped in, rather than Ron.

"Miss Granger?" he asked, his hands crossed around his chest. "What can I do for you?"

"Professor," Hermione began hesitantly, "I'm sorry but…couldn't Lillian come with us to Hogsmeade? It might help her cope with what she's going through."

Harry shook his head.

"It is far more dangerous than you can imagine, outside of this castle, Miss Granger."

"But I can hold my own, and I wouldn't let Lillian out of my sights!" the girl then blushed at her own voice and lowered her gaze, "I'm sorry Professor, I shouldn't have yelled."

"If you call that yelling, Miss Granger, then you need to tell me what you think is whispering." Harry good-naturedly chuckled, before shaking his head slightly. "There is a misunderstanding however: Lillian doesn't want to go to Hogsmeade, and who am I to force her? She wishes _understandably_ to spend time with her family, what little there remains."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly, before the girl grimaced and nodded.

"I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"Now, enough of the sorry game," Harry said as he waved his right hand. "It is no-one's fault. I do not hide the fact that, even if she would want to go, I wouldn't let her: it's too dangerous."

"Yes, well, I…" a moment later, Lillian burst in the room carrying her school bag, and setting it down on Harry's desk with a huff.

"I'm here! I went as fast as I could brother, and…Hermione?"

"Lillian! Are you going to study with your brother today?"

"Well, yes!" Lillian chirped. "Harry insisted."

"Lillian," Hermione chided. "He's a professor."

Lillian merely pouted.

"But he's my brother, and we're not in class."

Hermione merely rolled her eyes, before turning to Harry and biting her lips, as if she wanted to ask a question. Harry merely nodded back to the girl, who took it as a grant to ask away.

"I have a study group going on with some of the younger years in Ravenclaw. We meet in the library and all, but sometimes we would like to peruse some of the Forbidden Sections books for extra credits…"

Harry smiled warmly.

_Do ut Des_. 'I give so that you may give'.

"Why not turn your study group into a study _club_, Miss Granger?" he clasped his hands together as he assumed a thoughtful pose. "You know, with a professor who could sign you the permission for the Forbidden Section."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "You would do that, Harry?"

"It's Professor Potter, Hermione!" Lillian suddenly said, mock-chastising the older girl by trying to imitate her tone.

"Oh, right! So—"

Harry just laughed; the sound propagated through his empty shell of a body that did not hold that emotion. He laughed because he believed that laughter was the logical solution. He laughed because being human meant this, and he subconsciously had to feign being human. An uncaring droning voice and a paralyzed face that didn't need to twitch or blink wasn't human.

"Of course, of course I'll do it." He smiled warmly again.

"Oh hell, should I write a chart of what we plan to do? Maybe a study progression line? I must look at the programs for all the years, since we're going to be a club we might have people from other years joining in and…" as Hermione began to gush and rant slightly about the club's working and what they would do, Harry merely nodded every now and then.

Things were looking up.

Of course, they came crashing down that very night, when he sat down at the staff table and was surprised to see Professor Snape not standing up to leave. He said nothing yet, but when the doors of the hall opened, he knew he should have.

A pale-blond haired man walked in with a silver walking cane, followed by another in a bowler hat. The look on the young Malfoy's face was one of pure relish at the sight of his father and the Prime Minister personally coming to Hogwarts, but to Harry they were nothing more than minor annoyances. The four Unspeakables following the two of them were instead quite the problem. Of those, he could count three who seemed to rile his own beast up, which meant that three out of four body-guards were in fact ghouls.

Judging by the mark of beast they emitted, it meant that the Prince of the district of London was a Gangrel or a Brujah, or maybe just someone with _Animalism_ among its disciplines.

"Minister, Lord Malfoy, I was not warned of your arrival." Albus Dumbledore spoke standing up, his eyes eying with coldness the two. Of course to anyone not well versed in the art of studying one's own gestures, Albus was his usual jovial self with twinkling eyes. To him, he was like a tiger poised to strike, just like Severus' own face betrayed the small smirk that lasted only for a split second, before being replaced by a blank mask.

"Terribly sorry to intrude Albus," Cornelius said. "I was warned by Lord Malfoy of a dangerous creature teaching and, Merlin forbids, when I heard it was an Elder Vampire I just had to make sure he was in check."

"My name is Harry Potter," he narrowed his eyes on the bowler-wearing man. "And unless you wish to see just what an Elder Vampire is capable of when angered, you will address me with the same courtesy I give you, Mister Fudge." And then his beast roared.

And the three Unspeakables began to shake and sweat as they calmed their own 'gift' from their own lords. To the outside eye, this display of strength meant that he had apparently scared three Unspeakables, the strongest available wizards to the British Ministry.

"You _are_ a foul beast then, to talk like that to your betters." Lucius Malfoy sneered as he held his cane.

"Shouldn't they place laws against having such a degree of blond hair? I believe you should clearly be considered inferior: your hair sickens me." Harry replied calmly. "Really, it must be such a shameful thing to watch the mirror in the morning with such horrendous hair."

"Careful what you say! I will not be dis—" as the man spoke, the wand came out of the walking cane and into the wizard's palm with speed, ready to strike probably.

"Oh?" Harry smiled gently. "Are you menacing me, Mister Malfoy? Should I assume you wish to wage war against me?"

"Gentlemen," Albus remarked. "We should continue this in my office."

"And why should we, Albus?" Harry said back. "I'm enjoying myself immensely, even though this foul creature with blond hair insists —in his inferiority of course— to be superior to me."

"Lord Malfoy is one of the most respected and noble members of the Wizengamot, Mister Potter," Fudge chipped in. "Your disrespect is un—"

"Why is the man talking?" Harry asked calmly the Unspeakables. "I mean, shouldn't he know he can't just butt in a conversation among others? Maybe I should add bowler wearing imbeciles to my list of inferior beings."

"Mister Potter! Control yourself!" Albus roar was soon deafened by the older Malfoy throwing the first spell at Harry. The curse hit dead-on, since Harry didn't even bother dodging it.

And nothing happened.

"A skin flailing curse? My, isn't that a dark spell." Harry purred as he slowly stood up.

"Gentlemen, this is a school…" Albus said as he stood up too.

"Dumbledore, this foul beast shouldn't be—"

"Albus, really, he's insulted me!"

"We should really go in my office."

"Dumbledore! You can't have an uncouth beast such as that teach! My son is scared out of his wits within his own room! The beast lurks the dungeons at night!"

"Really Albus, he _has_ to be branded!"

"Do you know that I could actually kill you both and walk away scot-free?" Harry's calm words echoed through the hall, silencing even the murmurs from the students.

Cornelius was the first to blink and open his mouth to retort, but it was Lucius who understood and nearly snapped his cane as he did.

"Unspeakables! Arrest this man on—"

"We can't, sir." One of the Ghouls among the Unspeakables talked. "He's got ambassador's privileges."

Cornelius turned to gaze at the Unspeakable who had talked, and then back at Harry.

"But I never _signed_ those!"

"The American Ambassador did, sir."

With those words, Harry merely nodded once with a small smile on his face.

"You see, bowler-hat, whereas poor and misguided lambs insult and curse with no grace at all, true men give only subtle menaces." Harry winked towards Malfoy.

"I would keep my eye on my finances, Lord Malfoy. There might be a crash sometimes in the future." Then Harry's gaze turned to the Prime Minister, "And Mister Fudge? You should start finding yourself another job. I doubt you will be re-elected."

Harry then calmly stood up, and turned to stare at the Headmaster.

"And, Albus? Maybe you should start looking into contacting Slughorn." With those words, he strolled out in the silence of the room.

The open mouths, the stares, the gazes of awe and dread mixed with those of surprise. Beneath it all however another foundation was laid, one far stronger than any of the other emotions pooled together: that of acknowledgment.

He had silenced both Malfoy and the Prime Minister, made three Unspeakables fear him and made a fool out of Albus to boot. He had done all that publicly, and the backslash would be absorbed by the Prince of London, who would be told by his Ghouls about the arrival of a Vampire older than the thirteenth Generation in Hogwarts.

Not knowing his blood potency, the Prince would undoubtedly play it safe, and considering the way he had acted without concern for both the Prime Minister and Lord Malfoy, it would simply mean he'd be valued as a low-generation member. Maybe he'd be considered a Seventh or Sixth generation.

It would be enough to be left alone, barring a formal invitation of course to attend court with the symbol of the Archons, and unless the Prince had a spy within the castle. Yet if the Prince had a spy in the castle, he wouldn't have sent three Ghoulized Unspeakables. One would have sufficed.

It was pretty clear that entering the castle of Hogwarts as a Vampire was an extremely rare feat, especially as a Vampire who could still reason and coldly keep his temper.

He'd use this, just like he'd use everything else.

_Everything is a resource, just waiting to be profited from._

Truer words were never spoken.

**Author's notes**

**Lower Generation Vampires are more 'close' to Cain, the first Vampire. Princes are the 'Kings' of Court. Ghouls can go around in the daylight of course. 'Everything is a resource, just waiting to be profited from' is what I believe a Giovanni would say (But also a Ventrue)**


	6. The Revenge of the Lambs

Grey clouds loomed. Harry smiled as he walked through the empty corridors of the nightly Hogwarts. He felt the familiar sensation of the shroud as thick as butter wherever he walked, as if the castle itself understood what he was planning on doing and was trying its hardest to dissuade him.

The Shadowlands screamed and shrieked as faint whispers rose from the very stones, memories of times long past, of actions done by the living decades before and still haunting, still lingering, around.

"_If you add two drops of pixy blood…"_

"_Really! Did Miranda say that?"_

"_No running in the corridors!"_

"_We're Slytherins, what did you expect?"_

"_Ah! Did you see his face!?"_

The voices were incorporeal, toneless, nothing more than cold whispers. They murmured incessantly, displaying themselves only to the ears of those who could listen. The empty classroom near the top of the Dark Tower was the perfect place for someone like him to do his bidding. He trudged through the green grass of the courtyard, opening the wooden double doors with but a slight push.

There was not a discernible scent in the Skinlands, everything seemed septic to say the least. The moment one delved into the Shadowlands, the past plunged deeply in the present. The Shadowlands might have been the source of the Wraiths, of the hatred pure and unbridled of past resentments and deep darkness, but they were also objective and honest.

The past could not be hidden, because the Shadowlands remembered. The past could not be changed, because the Shadowlands held it.

"_Ex Nihilo."_ _From nothingness_.

The Dark Tower morphed as he stepped through, entering a tear in the Shroud and staring as the entire place just _changed_. Gone were the dark walls, and gone were the bars of the cells. Gone were the damp atmosphere and the thick dusty air.

It was all gone and replaced.

Luscious tapestries of pale grey, soft carpets of white, paintings and furniture both lavish and perfectly sculpted stood in place. Flickering lights of golden chandeliers lit the corridors and the halls of the Dark Tower, which in their ghostly evanescence gave a far more wicked display of what the past of the Tower had been.

Nothing could be destroyed in the Shadowlands, nothing could be forgotten. The Shadowlands were there to make people remember, to make the Wraiths remember…and they did so by consuming the very souls of those who lingered too much.

Wizards didn't know how lucky they were, that their own magic shielded them from the Shadowlands horrendous effects. Ghosts of wizards used magic as if it was their own fetter. They used magic to remain attached to the world, and because they did that, it meant that the power of controlling the fetters worked on them too.

There were no ghosts around him there, but he didn't expect them to come…unless he called for them.

Calmly he extended his fingers forward, and as he closed his eyes he hummed. The hum departed from his throat, trembling in the air as it reached through the concepts of _beyond_ and _before_. Invisible chains of Will flew through the darkness of the Shadowlands, and the next instant a Wraith merged through. Harry opened his eyes then.

A bloody knife in hand and a feral smirk, twin red eyes that were the only colour it showed, the Wraith looked at him expectantly. Harry just nodded, and the Wraith _obeyed_. It hurled itself through the walls of the tower, disappearing as if it was nothing more than a fleeting thought.

Harry turned around, and calmly walked through the tear in the Shroud that was already closing. The wards were fighting the intrusion, his intrusion, back in the realm of the Skinlands…but they could not stop him as he passed through. The air returned, but he did not need to breath. The dust, the decay, the bars of the cells all came back in the realm of the living, leaving behind in the Shadowlands what had once been the true aspect of the Tower itself.

Harry didn't know why the Dark Tower held the weakest of the wards' powers over it, but he wasn't one to look at a gifted horse in the mouth —especially not when it served his purpose. The Wraith would do his bidding on Monday morning, and no-one would be none the wiser.

You can ward yourself against living beings, but against the spirits of the dead?

He walked outside in the still long night, when a loud howl was heard from outside the castle. He tensed, as another howl soon followed.

The sounds continued throughout the time he spent out in the courtyard, but once he closed the doors of the entranceway they silenced themselves. So there were Gangrels outside the castle now…or maybe Werewolves. He didn't know which of the two options he preferred, or if he actually preferred any of them.

As it was, he entered his office to find the familiar robed form of Susan Bones _asleep_ in his coffin. The painting was actually looking at the scene with distaste, shaking its head with a muttering of 'scandalous'.

"She waited for you," the painting remarked. "In my times, ladies did not fall asleep in men's coffins."

"In your times things went by far slower." Harry remarked. "And Kindreds held more blood in their veins."

The painting scoffed. "Troubles of the younger generation: when Gehenna will strike, I will enjoy watching from the sidelines."

"Gehenna is a myth," Harry remarked. "Destroying the shroud is a possibility."

"Ah…Giovanni —I knew it seemed strange— the damned of the Necromancers. Is Augustus still holding your family?"

"He is," Harry whispered back. "But fishing for information from me comes at a price, you know?"

The painting shrugged. "Dumbledore believes we paintings are tied to the position of Headmaster. We aren't: we're tied to ourselves first and foremost…I suppose I died sometime after becoming an Elder perhaps. I can hope at least, this painting form is quite refreshing."

"Daeva?"

"The amount of make-up did not give me out?"

"Appearances can be deceiving." Harry replied.

"That they can," the vampire in the painting acknowledged, before shrugging and sauntering off, probably in some other painting. Harry turned to where Susan was, and gently got down on one knee near her face. He smiled, taking on the face that a charming prince would have for his sleeping beauty, and then gently began to caress her right cheek with his hand.

He gently kissed her lips, forcing the vitae through his mouth and into the girl's own throat, letting it pour and attach itself to that which already lingered within.

It was a second. It was nothing more than a fleeting instant.

And Susan Bones was forever tainted by the might of the Vitae, by the power of the Blood, by the will of the Vampire. The blood chained. The blood enslaved. The blood demanded. The crimson liquid, that sated the thirst of the royalty of the dead, bind in shackles unbreakable by the slave the human within. Susan Bones opened her eyes not as a free woman, but as a slave to all of his commands, all of his orders, all of his whims.

He could ask her to kill and she would.

He could ask her to die and she would.

He could ask her to burn, to maim, to destroy, to tear apart everything she held precious…and for him, she would. Mothers would drown their children under the shackles of blood. She would be no less.

"You're mine now," he whispered with the utmost care, breathing slowly on her face like a passionate lover. She smiled as if she had always been in love with him, as if she had always followed him, as if she had always been his. She smiled, and she acquiesced to his needs.

Her neck was soft as it was brought forward to him.

"Do not scream." He whispered to her ear, blowing lightly behind it. The Kiss of the Giovanni was painful, granting a modicum of pleasure before was something few did, and even fewer kept on doing to their ghouls. Susan merely moaned as she held one of the pillows of the coffin with her arms, and when his fangs bit into her skin, her teeth sunk in the pillow to withhold her screams.

Blood gushed out from the girl's body, pouring into the awaiting mouth of Harry who drank and slaked his thirst from such a tender container. He then removed himself with effort, quietly licking the girl's neck as she panted hard, breathing in and out raggedly as sweat and the occasional twitch coursed through her body.

Her heart was beating erratically, pumping blood to where there was none, trying to soothe the pain in any way it could. He gently brought his right hand down, to where her heart was and smiled kindly.

"Your heart belongs to me now."

And she groaned a whispered yes, before closing her eyes and falling asleep.

He merely smiled back, and then went to the desk.

One of his tools was now ready to be sharpened. Another would soon be. He closed his eyes, the willpower drained from the events of that night forcing him to fall asleep there and then. A lot of things he had done, and a lot more he would have to do. Yet the ground was being prepared, and there was nothing the others could do to stop him. As Dumbledore would realize…

He shouldn't have opened the box of sins that belonged to Pandora.

The morning came together with Susan's eyes snapping open. The red haired girl looked around flustered, before standing up quickly and with her face as red as the colour of her hair. Harry forced the blood in his veins to work, making him open his eyes just to look at the pursed lips of the girl coming next to him. Probably she had wanted to try and kiss him awake.

He coughed slightly, making an 'ahem' sound that distracted the girl and brought her a few feet backwards in fright.

"Miss Bones," he remarked calmly. "You fell asleep in my office, last night."

"Ah, I—I did?" she hesitantly looked down at her feet, wrapping her arms around her body as if to reassure herself of something. "I'm sorry professor."

"That will be fifty points from Hufflepuff," Harry's word weren't met with any open exclamation, but rather with the girl's gaze remaining down as she seemed on the verge of crying. Harry could actually _imagine_ what her inner monologue was going on about, since it seemed she wasn't listening to him at all.

The thoughts running through the girl's mind were probably things like 'he would never kiss me' or 'I'm a failure as a student' or even a saucier 'how am I going to make him love me if I keep acting like a stuttering child?'

"Furthermore, I hope you understand that sleeping in my bed hardly accounts for why you didn't simply go back in your dorm room once tired," the next jab had the girl's face turn beet red.

Now her thoughts probably ranged from 'I'm a pervert' to 'I'll never be able to marry' or even a 'What can I tell him that won't make him sick of me? Oh Merlin, help me please! I'd die if he were to hate me!'

"So, Miss Bones, what can you say in your defence?"

"I, I…I—" the girl was now stuttering, her hands clasping together repeatedly as she looked around, like a rabbit searching for a way out. "I was…I…"

"Uhm…were you perhaps…enticed, by the smell of my bed?" he asked her with a small smile, licking his own upper lip slightly. "Maybe you wanted to see me," he stood up, slowly circling around the desk as he came up in front of her, "but I wasn't there."

Susan's eyes widened like bowls as she began to breathe hard.

"You went for the next best thing right? The place where I sleep," he smiled as he took a step closer; bringing his right hand forward to grab the girl's chin, his face moved to stand just a few inches away from that of Susan, before he whispered on her lips.

"Naughty, aren't we?"

And then he pushed her face away from him, sending the hopeful girl to fall on the ground in fright.

"You will spend one week of detention with Filch, Miss Bones. I will not tolerate such scandalous behaviour from one of my most prized pupils." He pointed to the door with his eyes. "Out with you, _now_."

And in tears, the girl left.

The blood would make her desire him. The blood would make do everything in her power to get back in his good graces. Yet the blood would also make her realize that his words gave her as 'his most prized pupil' and the way he had merely licked the upper lip of his? That too would turn into the girl's thoughts as something enticing and romantic.

He could have _raped_ her and she still would have loved him for it. He could have broken her limbs and she would have demanded for more. He could have forced her to choke on her own intestines, and she would have eaten and savoured them. For him, she would have.

Removal of free will, removal of free thought and removal of everything that could even glint at the escape…that was what the third bond of blood meant. There was nothing more damning, nothing more debasing, than that. The Unforgivables meant nothing when compared to the power of the Vitae.

The words of the Malfoy spawn rang in his ears then, making him chuckle.

The ignorant fool probably believed that Vampires fought _duels_. He probably thought that Wizards met Vampires on an open field of grass, with no wind and possibly with the time closing in to the sunrise. Maybe the wizard had a rose in his mouth, and whipped his hair like some effeminate freak.

Or maybe he believed that Vampires were good enough only to suck blood and plead for more like some crack-addicted.

He began to tap with his hands on his desk, waiting calmly. Six hours after his wake so early in the morning, the doors of his office were banged open by a most furious Headmaster. The look of anger on the elder wizard's face was truly magnificent, and yet the calm and controlled attitude would have probably scared him more.

"Headmaster? To _what_ do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mister Potter," Albus spoke clearly. "I might have done a terrible thing. I lapsed in my judgment and foolishly I believed myself able to weather the aftermath." His right hand went to his wand, as he pointed it towards him. Harry just smiled, bringing up an eyebrow at such a motion.

"Oh? What happened?" he asked with curiosity in his voice and completely ignoring the wand pointed at him.

"Do not play the ignorance game with me, Mister Potter," Albus' words came out crisp and clear. "Professor Snape died today."

"_Lode al cielo_." He brought up both his eyes as he sighed in relief.

"Good, so you came here to tell me this wonderful news, Headmaster?"

"I came here hoping for a confession, Mister Potter. Professor Snape was clearly on the list of people you hated, and the way he died in the middle of the class surely does not put my mind at ease."

"And why would that be, Headmaster? Of what, pray tell, did he die?"

Albus grimaced.

"A cauldron from the first rows exploded, sending a knife straight through Professor Snape's eye. It reached his brain and killed him on the spot. He didn't suffer."

"A pity then," Harry reckoned. "Still, that does look like an accident."

"Alas it is not possible for it to be one! Someone removed the protection wards from Severus' desk, and sheer luck could _not_ be that precise in guiding the knife."

"Headmaster, I was here the entire morning, and most of the night of yesterday. The painting will certainly assuage your theory, and if he doesn't, then Miss Bones will…since she graced me with her presence, occupying my bed." As Harry smiled, Albus' face hardened as the old wizard seemed to be internally seething.

"What happened to the boy who told me how proud he was of his little sister?" the old man asked, suddenly losing all of his strength as the wand he held in his hand came loose, returning to his robe's pocket.

"He died in a world of rotting corpses, and awoke in one of keen minds and ruthless monsters the likes of which have Voldemort like a thief of candy to babies," he answered back calmly. Harry smiled then, before chuckling.

"Let me tell you this, Albus: I did not kill Severus. Knowledge is power, but knowledge of certain things…someone else did. Do not seek the Camarilla, Albus. Do not seek the Traditions. Renounce your quest on who I am or what I am…" he whispered, "This is the only act of kindness I will extend, to the one who stole my parents away from me."

With those words, he looked as the old wizard retreated, closing the door behind him without a sound. Harry closed his eyes and smiled.

Sappy tones, prepared dialogues, the hints dropped within his sentences. Albus would seek answers to the wrong questions, and the right questions would be left untouched. He had killed Severus with the mere conjuration of a bloodthirsty Wraith, one of the many the Giovanni knew by name.

The Wraith would probably be called again by someone else among the family, who would then relate to Augustus what he had used her for. In that way the Ante-Diluvian would know of his progresses. The smart and thoughtful Kindred would then acknowledge the next in line for the potion's spot on such a short notice, and Professor Slughorn would have…an unforeseen event that would radically change his way of living.

Why have a single infiltrated, when more always yielded the best results?

He let Torpor claim him once more. He actually wondered why people had to disturb him during the day. Didn't the word 'Vampire' actually _mean_ something? As he rested into his torpor, a strange patch of grey and black drew itself along a sandy beach.

Torpor wasn't like sleep. Vampires didn't actually dream as much as they remembered, and they didn't have dreams…they had nightmares.

The patch of grey and black defined itself, like a movie shown in a sepia tone, with no sound and no colour except for white, grey and black. He looked at the cinema's movie from the perspective of the camera itself, clearly seeing the back of a few persons standing in the rows. The film seemed to be a lovely depiction of romance between two young lovers.

The girl had her feet in the water, while the boy seemed to be holding on to a volley ball beneath his armpit. There was a strong wind at the beach, the long hair of the girl flying everywhere. The boy waved at the girl and the girl smiled back, before the two closed in to one another, probably for a chaste kiss.

In that moment, the theatre began to catch on fire. The people left as the flames burned a bright red and orange colour, bursting through the walls and the roof and claiming bit by bit the entire surface until their heat reached his face.

A moment later, and his eyes opened wide as blood rushed to awaken his entire body. He stood up quickly, fear clasping at his beast who whined pitifully for but a second, before reality reawakened in it the desire to hunt and feast.

The Lust for the Hunt, the Rage of the Beast and the Fear of the Fire were the three cardinal emotions a Vampire could _truly_ feel. The rest simply was nothing more than a recollection. Yet as he looked around and slowly made his way outside, he realized that nightmares for Kindreds always _meant_ something.

There was just some sort of _connection_ between a Vampire's Torpor and the things that surrounded him that couldn't be dropped off as 'chance' or 'randomness'. A fire in a theatre…he wasn't going to watch any recent soap-operas then.

Not that he could, considering he was miles away from his haven in New York.

He led himself out of his office, walking through the deserted corridors as he reached for the dining hall. The paintings were all dressed in black, as if the death of such an _esteemed_ professor actually meant something. He stepped into the hall, and as he did he looked into the eyes of the entire assembled student body, that seemed to be all clad in black and standing on their feet. The Slytherins were looking downwards with a contrite expression as his gaze passed to look at them, while the Ravenclaw studied him with curiosity. The Hufflepuff house simply held a sombre face, while some of the Gryffindors were actually smiling and elbowing each other in joy.

He walked in the line of the staff, ignoring the slightly narrowed glare of the Deputy Headmistress. There were no tables in the room, and the candles lit in the air seemed to float slightly higher than normal.

"We are here tonight," the Headmaster spoke calmly, "to give our final farewells to Professor Snape."

Even the few snickers had died out by then, replaced only by silence.

"He might have appeared as a bitter man, and maybe he was, but that didn't mean that beyond his surface something more was hidden from the world. His greatest qualities, the reason I trusted him with teaching the students here at Hogwarts, were far more difficult to discern than his witty tongue." The Headmaster breathed in slowly, "Alas, time will always flow forward. I cannot ask you to remember him fondly, but I can ask you not to spite upon his grave. In death, all men are equal. In death, there should be forgiveness. Death is nothing more than the great next adventure, one that we must all embark upon when our time comes."

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes, the logic dictating he shouldn't give out such a visible sign of considering the old wizard's words as mad rambling. He waited patiently, as the various professors all said something concerning the deceased. Then, he took the spot.

Dumbledore's eyes were on him, as if daring him to say anything wrong about the professor.

Harry just grimaced towards him, before coughing slightly and catching the attention of everyone in the hall.

"Professor Snape was a great man. He _saved_ my life, when everyone else would have rather _murdered_ me." A small gasp came from Susan, as well as Hermione. "Professor Snape, Severus, was maybe a _severe_ man, but he had heart. He might have been misunderstood for most of his tenure as a professor, but always at the forefront was his desire to keep the students safe. He had a hard life in his youth: constantly bullied, harassed and pranked and all under the gaze of the teachers who did nothing to stop this. Even his life was put at risk, and yet nothing was done." He shook his head slowly.

"This is something that should not have happened, _ever_. That it happened at Hogwarts, it makes this extremely sadder: Hogwarts should be home. It should be a place for students to find a family beyond their own family. It should be a place where there are no tears and no cries. And yet pain always finds the way to worm itself in."

He closed his eyes slowly, tears of blood falling down his eyes among the gasps of the crowd.

"Severus Snape will forever be remembered, and may he rest in peace."

As he turned to leave, the blood falling down his chin stilled, before slowly returning within his very pores and back into his body. The hall remained quiet for an instant…and then a robed figure departed from the mass and like a bullet of red hair, it launched itself to tightly hug Harry's frame.

Lillian Potter was hugging him, crying on his robe and trying her best to probably smother herself with them. He made a sad smile with his face, as he gently consoled her. She was probably crying for him, rather than for Snape.

"However, potions' lessons will continue regularly, starting tomorrow." Harry froze in that precise instant, still clutching Lillian to him. Albus' voice rang through the hall clearly and crisply, but it wasn't because of what the man said that he froze. He stilled because standing at the entrance of the dining hall, wearing her Auror garbs, was a figure he had hoped never to see again for as long as he could.

Nymphadora Tonks sheepishly entered the hall just as the Headmaster of Hogwarts spoke once more.

"Miss Nymphadora Tonks offered herself to take on Professor Snape's classes on short notice, and I have gracefully accepted her offer," the Headmaster smiled.

The woman sheepishly smiled, until her own eyes settled on his. Then her smile faded, to be replaced by a grimace. He slowly stopped hugging Lillian, before turning around and leaving calmly. The sound of his footsteps didn't even make an echo as he left.

This _complicated_ things.

He touched the gold ring on his finger —the marriage band— and grimaced once he was alone in the hallway. Harry entered his classroom first, not even caring for a presentation with the woman in question. He knew her all too well.

The low growl of the beast echoed through his ribcage, the blood seemed to boil as he recalled every second of her. Paralyzed in time, stilled forever, that was nothing compared to the torture of reminiscing the past. There was only one thought in his mind by then, and that was how to get the woman out of the school. He couldn't use a Wraith again. Never kill two people in the same way: it was stupid and predictable. Nymphadora had always been clumsy…how she had ended un becoming the potions' professor at Hogwarts was a…

It wasn't.

His eyes widened and then narrowed.

His hands clenched tightly as he understood the underlying truth of the matter.

Albus had known he would kill Severus. No, even better, Albus had known someone would eventually kill the man from the very beginning. Nymphadora was an auror, last he had checked. The only way for her to be just so casually available was to have been on the ready.

If that was the case, then why the charade, why go through all of this unless…

In his anger, he very nearly entered the shroud to immediately compel back the Wraith and query her on what had happened. Maybe he was over-exaggerating, but the only logical conclusion was that the Headmaster had faked Snape's death, just so he could catch him unsuspecting further down the road.

But for what purpose?

Nymphadora was clearly some sort of punishment for his actions. It was obvious: barely the sight of the woman sent him on a howling match with the Beast, and whatever Albus was, he wasn't a fool.

Sure, the woman he had married was an auror, but she wasn't a Potions Master. She barely scrapped by with her Newt for the corps, so there simply wasn't a way she was qualified. To let her through, Dumbledore would have had to pass through the board of governors or the Prime Minister.

Two could play the game of being in line with the government however: and he would aim at the head of the Police Department. He would aim for Amelia Bones.

The students trickled in one after the other, until they finally filled the classroom. There had been a few more additions to his course. He actually wondered if it was Hermione's doing or Lillian's…or maybe the fact he didn't actually require a book when he taught?

Anyway, he had a class to teach, a plan to devise and a Ministry to plunder.

And he had yet to hear back from the Prince of London, who was certainly going to write to him eventually…especially to explain how much of a political fallout with the wizardry ministry he had forced the Kindred to sweep under the rug to avoid troubles with the Masquerade.

Dumbledore had been right however, on at least one thing.

Death was the great next adventure. Maybe it wasn't a pretty adventure, it wasn't shiny and it certainly wasn't with a happy ending, but it was something. It was a path built of entrails, of mud and blood alike that easily collapsed as if straw could do nothing to hold it. The path led to only one destination, and yet there wasn't enough width for more than a single man to walk upon it.

Hunter, Lover, Monster. Vampire, Kindred, Beast. Mindful tactician, suave talker, ferocious creature of the night…and yet it meant nothing.

You couldn't define the Darkness.

But the Darkness could pretty much define you.

And the only thing those who basked in its presence wished for, truly wished for beyond any attempt or desperate plead…was for it all to end.

Vampires didn't want to live forever.

They wanted the sun on their skin, the food in their stomachs. They wanted sleep and not torpor; they wanted laughter to be true and not a mockery. They wanted to cry tears of water and salt and not of crimson blood.

But what one wants and what one has, in life and in the world, are never one and the same.

**Author's notes**

**And another chapter is done.**

**I'll be getting to Durmstrang and Beauxbatons arrival eventually…**

**But there's just so much character development-showing to do!**

**One thing to say: do not expect lemons. Vampires are per their nature 'sensual' creatures. This I will portray, but do not expect things to 'reach the point'. **

**To Vikraal: **

**Vampires may control any amount of Vitae (The processed blood) that is within their bodies or on them. Once it leaves them however it no longer is 'controlled'.**

**Vampires of certain generations may feed on animal blood (the lowest ones) but at a certain 'generation' they may only rely on human blood, and once they reach higher up they can only drink from other Vampires themselves. That's why old generation vampires go in 'torpor'. There simply isn't a vampire who would let another one drink from him without kicking a fuss. So going in torpor for long periods lowers the generation.**

**And no, Vampires only have blood in them, as shown in here where Harry cries tears of blood. **


	7. The Ignorance of the Conjure

Grey clouds loomed. The sun settled over the horizon, as Harry's eyes snapped open to the face of Hermione, who seemed to be positively gushing with excitement. Next to her was a group of various students, the youngest of which seemed to be a third year of Slytherin —Astoria Greengrass, if his memory served him well. The study group seemed composed of quite a few seventh years, among which were Hermione and Susan, followed by Blaise Zabini and the Ravenclaw Parvati Patil.

Lavender Brown was the Seventh year Gryffindor, who seemed to be holding herself quite closely to the Hufflepuff Neville Longbottom. The boy, now practically a man, was instead eying him with curiosity, as if he had something to ask but yet couldn't at the moment.

Harry brought up an eyebrow, before commenting.

"I would have met you in the library," he pointed out. "Had you told me you wished for a meeting."

Hermione had the decency to blush.

"It was my idea professor," Susan said hesitantly. "I thought you would like to know who's in the club."

"I see," he replied curtly. The flinch on the girl's face already told him the entire story. He just rolled his eyes as he let Hermione organize the entire thing for him. The girl was easy to control and direct. She was that sort of people. The idealistic type one could use by just 'pointing' at something, and then wait for her to 'fetch' it. She wouldn't probably believe it, but she resembled more a faithful dog than a human being.

It was probably because she valued his…friendship. Such a loose word, it actually made him slightly sick at the prospect. He gazed upon the door of his office opening again, to reveal a scuffled looking Lillian with faint red cheeks.

"Lillian! Where have you been?" Hermione's question was met with the surprised look of the girl, who seemed to notice only then that he wasn't alone.

"Nowhere," his sister snapped back. Was that jealousy? Of course it was. Harry would have rolled his eyes again, but one was enough to display his disappointment.

"Lillian!" Hermione chided. Her hands on her hips just like a perfect teacher, "I was worried."

"You're not my mother, you don't have to," Lillian growled back.

"Lillian," Harry calmly said. The girl turned her eyes to him, and looked for his next words. He didn't say anything else, just stared at her with his own eyes and his hands clasped together. The girl began to fidget, before finally blurting out.

"Sorry."

"Good," Harry nodded. "Now, what books do you require from the Forbidden Section?"

"Dark Arts," Blaise Zabini began. "There is a book entitled Counter-curses. It's in the section because the curses within are explained too, and some are pretty much forbidden."

"Conceded," Harry acknowledged. "Next?"

Hermione gathered her courage, and handed him a list of over twenty books. Some mild like 'Advanced Theory on the Arithmancy Properties of Seven were mentioned together with others a bit heavier like 'Curse someone into becoming a Werewolf'.

He wrote down slips for each of them, before handing them back.

"I expect weekly updates, from one of you, about what each book has been used for. Hermione, you're the representative for your group at present. You are in charge of collecting what your group studied from those books and bring it to me. If nothing was learned, or if you didn't actually use them, then the permission slip will be revoked. Understood?"

There were a chorus of yes following that, as the students trickled outside one by one.

Lillian remained behind, winning a sort of staring contest with Hermione and Susan, albeit the latter left when he merely eyed her and then the door. It was like watching a sort of show for dominance between dogs. He supposed he could compare humans to animals, considering he was something superior to them.

"Lillian, you will be late for curfew."

"What were you doing with Susan last night?" she asked suddenly, her eyes looking down on the floor with her fists clenched. He frowned. How did she know?

"I beg your pardon?"

"Harry, you slept with Susan? She's your student!" was the girl actually moralizing him? The girl, of all people, should have been the last to try something like that.

"Lillian, how do you know this?"

His sister turned a stammering red colour, probably because he hadn't said 'no' but merely asked a different question.

"Don't change the argument!"

"Lillian, I am your professor," he hissed. "Do not make me lose my patience."

"I know, all right?" she muttered. "She came back late, I…"

"Do not lie to me, Lillian."

She winced, before slowly moving her hand to the inner folds of her robe. From there she took a crumpled piece of parchment, which she unfolded in front of him.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." She murmured those words as if they weighted lead, before finally setting the parchment in front of him.

He looked at the scrap of paper slowly morphing ink on the surface, before it rippled all across it to reveal a map of Hogwarts. There were dots, moving around the various levels of Hogwarts. He could see it clearly that in the dungeons, the names Harry _Bones_ and Lillian Potter were etched.

He snapped the map shut a second later, before Lillian could actually see his name.

"Your name changes when you drink from someone, right?" she asked slowly. He sighed, of course that bit of information had not been exactly secret, but the implications of this map within Albus' hands…

"So that's how you knew, right?" he slowly asked as he stood up.

"Yeah, I mean…the dots were a bit too close and I know that she's pretty, so when a boy and a girl are alone they…" Lillian blushed and stammered, moving her gaze sideways as she hugged herself with her arms.

"Oh? Tell me, Lillian, what do a boy and a girl do when they're alone?" he walked around the table slowly, nearing his sister and bringing his right hand to cup her chin, a small smile on his lips.

"They…they kiss?" she murmured closing her eyes. Her face looked like a tomato, as she bit her lip in an effort not to give away her embarrassment. He gently touched her shoulder with his free hand, and then slowly neared his face to hers.

The girl actually closed her eyes, the blood of him within her marking him as more than just a brother to her senses. Maybe, had her will been stronger, she might have fought it. But he wasn't an enemy. He wasn't a Death Eater or Voldemort. He was her brother and to her, he would never be something to fight against with every fibre of her soul.

And when his lips clashed against hers, the blood flowed and the sin was completed.

Chains could be envisioned clasping themselves around the Girl-Who-Lived, chains that weren't real, but yet bound her like a slave to his will and desires. His whims were her orders and reasons of living. His suggestions were unquestionable commands. He smiled at her afterwards, gently caressing her cheek as the girl looked at him with a dreamy gaze.

"Will you lend me the map?" he whispered to her tenderly.

"I…I —Yes, yes of course," she stammered out, before her fingers nervously grasped at his robes' folds. She held her head slightly down, looking at his chest with her eyes half-closed. "I just…we're brother and sister and…"

"Lillian, my love," he cooed her, smiling as her eyes lit up like fires to stare at him lost in her daydreams. "We'll just have to keep this our little secret," he grinned at her, and she smiled back before leaning in on his chest. Her arms circled around him, and as she began to rub her side of the face against his robes, he calmly began to caress the girl's head.

Another clasp and another chain were added —nothing more and nothing less.

He slowly left the embrace, ignoring the girl's pout as he ushered her outside. He chuckled as he grasped the map, slowly beginning to read it. Albus Dumbledore was in his office, while Barty Crouch was talking with Alastor Moody in his room. He sighed as he shook his head.

Such marvel of charms…and he had never known of its existence before this day.

He sighed as he folded the map. It didn't much matter to him not having a wand. He could always ask for a Wraith to steal one for him. What he truly had wanted to see was if Wraiths were visible upon the map, but apparently they weren't. Sure, the ghosts of Hogwarts could be seen, but those of normal and common muggles? No, they couldn't.

Harry stretched, before heading off into the school. He had lessons to teach and students to mould…and he just could not wait.

The month of October arrived and reached its end without accidents. If Dumbledore had caught on with what he was doing, he wasn't revealing it. The ministry's intimidation didn't push through, and neither did he receive any letter from the Prince of London. He was sated with what he had, albeit he knew that just behind the corner, the true plan was coming to fruition.

Augustus hadn't written to him again, and neither had Ambrogino. It wasn't as if he expected more than a letter actually, and from Augustus even a postcard was most likely to become a relic to be cherished. He supposed the true prize would have been the Wraith, but it wasn't as if he could bind it to him, especially not if it was that powerful.

He was sitting at the staff table, his eyes doing their best to ignore the looks of Nymphadora Tonks, who seemed keen on getting him to talk to her. He had managed an entire month, courtesy of his Wraith-guard, without having to even talk to her. Doors wouldn't open, she would trip down stairs, she would trip in the hallways leading to him, and just in general she wouldn't even be able to near his office.

"Lillian's good with Potions, you know?" she said, once more using one of the blandest argument in the history of dialogue starting.

"Tonight's the night the groups from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons arrive," she then supplied, as he didn't rise to the bait. "Durmstrang has a history of dark teachers: Karkaroff, their headmaster, was a Death Eater to boot." She snorted afterwards, and resumed her eating.

"Really, you could say something, Harry," she sing-sung. "Did you lose it when you became a vampire?"

Was she now trying the 'make him angry' route? He rolled his eyes in disbelief. Why had the Headmaster taken such a…child among the professors? He knew of course: to keep an eye on him or maybe annoy him to the point where he would make a mistake.

Well, he was going to delude the headmaster…he wasn't going to commit an error.

He rose together with the rest of the staff, as the doors of Hogwarts opened to admit the delegation from the other two schools. The first to enter were the Beauxbatons students, dressed in a light blue gown that was probably not apt for the cold climate of Scotland. He eyed calmly the incoming students…_there_.

He could feel his beast rile up to a challenge, as a girl with blond hair and pretty skin suddenly looked queasy. The French word defined them as Veelas.

The Kindred called them the aborted experiment of the Daeva antediluvian. He had wanted the flesh of mortals to _allure_, so as to use them as traps for other Kindred. It had horrendously worked against that, because instead of attracting Vampires they attracted humans, and to Kindred, they tasted disgusting. They could do in a pinch, but there was a reason no Veela had ever been turned into a Vampire.

He didn't much care about the talks on their so called 'fiery nature'. They could be used and were used most effectively by Kindreds with nightclubs. Binding a couple to dance half-naked near a pole worked wonders for finances.

And the flesh market always was eager for more.

His eyes trailed off towards the headmistress of the school. The half-giant Madame Maxime, he didn't feel anything strange or off-putting, but still filed the woman for a later thorough check. The students were all seventh years, and as they sat among the Ravenclaws while the Headmistress took one of the free seats near the headmaster, he could see the effects of the Veela allure coming to fruition.

Too much _Presence_ always made people uncomfortable. It attracted attention, brought people to stare…and it risked infringement on the Masquerade. A human being could tolerate only enough 'beauty' before his mind started to wrack itself around the concept of what it was. The 'alien' beauty defined it perfectly, but the problem was that usually, what was 'alien' was also 'purged' eventually.

Some things were best left untouched and unchanged. Veelas were only females, and more of their numbers lived secretly in captivity as breeding stock for more of them, rather than in freedom and in the light of the day. That was the truth of the world: nothing that is given comes freely.

The next to enter were those of Durmstrang, their Headmaster walking in proudly while they hit the ground with their walking sticks. Did they really have to parade their militaristic nature? He didn't actually care: he hadn't even gone outside to meet with them. As they settled at the Slytherin's table, a small smile escaped his lips.

They were brutes. Had they truly wanted to display some sort of 'anti-dark' propaganda, they would have sat with the Hufflepuff students. He merely kept his cool, settling for feigning to drink from the cup of conjured blood. He didn't need it anymore after all. His eyes travelled to where Lillian was sitting, fidgeting with her robes as she looked at him every few minutes.

Susan Bones did the same, from the Hufflepuff table.

He could add another Blood Doll, but did he really need it?

Hermione Granger could work well, since that would make him able to know what went on in Ravenclaw too. He would have to juggle her together with the other two bounded girls however, and while that would not be a problem…he knew all too well of how infighting had destroyed more than one 'harem' of Blood Dolls. To a bounded after all, no higher thought was that than love for her master.

He knew of a man, a wicked man, who had bound his own daughter. The ghoul had tried suicide twice, but once she had been completely shackled it hadn't mattered any longer. She could not bring herself to harm, because that was the wish of her master.

On the positive note, as long as they drank from his blood, they would be for all effect eternally young. Only Lillian had been transformed in a Ghoul. She, differently from Susan, could _use_ his blood.

"Professor Potter," the thick nasal voice of the Beauxbatons headmistress cut into his head. "You are a Vampire, are you not?"

He brought up an eyebrow.

"Indeed, I am."

"How does it feel?"

He blinked once.

What…

"Excuse me?"

"To be a Vampire, it must be horrible, right?" the headmistress pressed on. "You would rather be dead, no?"

"Madame Maxime," he began calmly. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

"I am just curious," the woman retorted with a frown on her giant face. "Why do Vampires keep on living?"

He blinked slowly, before crossing his arms over his chest and bringing his head slightly up, as if he was pondering on the question asked.

"Why do humans keep on living?" he answered back. "Many live horrible lives. Shouldn't they just…off themselves?"

"But humans do not have to live through the night, without ever seeing the day."

"And the opposite does not hold true? You are overestimating the boundaries we Vampires have…a common mistake fruit of European ignorance, I'm sure…and not a misguided attempt at testing whether or not I am easily riled up by crude and badly phrased questions."

Silence settled on the table once more, as the Headmaster finally rose from his seat.

A golden goblet was brought in by Rubeus Hagrid, and settled on a stone altar in the middle of the hall. Harry raised an eyebrow at that display.

"The Goblet of Fire will be an impartial judge to who is worthy enough to participate in the tournament. It will take only one student per school, and after much deliberation, only those in their age of majority will be able to enter the contest."

Noises and whines of unfairness rose in the air at those words, coming from the younger years. Harry merely closed his eyes for a second, his lips tugging upwards in a small smirk. They were complaining about not being entered in an extremely dangerous event, which had held deaths all along?

There simply was no way to appease the crowd, when set on something. It probably had to do with the prize of the tournament: a thousand gold galleons were something not to spit upon, and converted in dollars or muggle currency of any type…it would be a small fortune.

The thought of money must have caught the Weasley's mind, because he saw how the youngest of the tribe looked at her brother…and how he looked at the goblet. He carefully gave a small peek at what Moody, or Crouch actually, was displaying on his face. There was eagerness on it, a wicked smile on his face that even a blind man would have easily been able to see.

He merely returned to stare at the Headmaster's back, as he began to place an age line around the Goblet. If it worked without troubles, then he would be actually surprised of such a simple mean of defence. He gazed at Lillian, who was holding her hands on the table clenched in fists. Why was the girl blushing now, of all times?

Harry supposed there was something 'wrong' for the girl with how he stared at the goblet. Maybe because it brought his line of sight directly in front of the Ravenclaw table? He chuckled lightly as he realized that was indeed the case. The girl was jealous of him staring at the Veela.

He didn't actually want her to stop believing it, since competition between allies usually gathered more resources. The point was moot with blood-bound servants however, because they always did their best, no matter what. He supposed he could 'gift' her again for her worrying. Maybe he could call her 'cute' or something similar to that to appease her female side?

Still, as he stood up and made his way towards his class, he knew he was just a few hours away from a confrontation.

"Professor Potter," the voice of the Headmaster reached his ears then. "I hope you will be inclined in accepting for your course students from the other schools."

He brought up an eyebrow, before calmly nodding.

"Send them with their peers: I'll have more chairs and desks prepared."

The mirth in Dumbledore's eyes remained there long after he had gone into his classroom, waiting patiently for the students to trickle in one after the other.

The door of his class burst open after the few had already entered, displaying an extremely crossed Susan Bones and a slightly mortified Neville Longbottom.

"Professor!" she basically screamed, "Neville entered the tournament!"

Harry stared at her silently. He didn't even bring up an eyebrow. He just looked at her in wait for some sort of 'explaining'.

"I told you I would!" Neville remarked, rearing up its head. "What's with you and always coming to the Professor to begin with?"

"Because the Professor knows more than you, and he told you not to participate!" Susan retorted hotly. "Why do you have to act like a bloody Gryffindor? You're a Hufflepuff!"

"So Hufflepuffs can't be brave? Is that what this is about?"

"No! But you aren't ready, and you'll be killed if you participate!"

"As much as this is fascinating to watch," Harry dryly remarked, "I am currently teaching the Fourth Years."

The students in question had been looking at the debate with curiosity, but being strangely the centre of the attention, they sort of shrunk on themselves. All barring his sister, who held a smug look while she stared at Susan, short of like saying 'take that, you bitch!'

Susan seemed chastised, while Neville was just embarrassed.

"I am sorry Professor," he muttered, his eyes down. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't. It will be fifteen points from Hufflepuff for this, and I expect to be talking with you Neville, tomorrow night. The goblet will sort out the champions tomorrow at lunch I suppose, so we will have to wait and see whether I will have to congratulate you or not for being chosen as a champion for Hogwarts."

With a wink in the boy's direction, he gestured outside the two seventh years, before returning to his own class.

"Now, we were talking about the effects of holy and unholy ground on Necromancy spells...can anyone tell me _why_ there is a difference?"

Daphne's hand rose calmly in the air, and as he pointed at her the girl answered back calmly.

"There is not a difference, except in the expectations of the wizard. Magic is inherently derived from the will of the caster, and so the stronger it is the better the spell."

"Correct, but incomplete: five points to Slytherin."

Kevin Entwhistle was the next one, with a nod from his head, the boy answered promptly.

"The expectations of the participants in the ritual are also counted in, as well as those of the people who know of the site in question: the more powerful the reputation of a site, the stronger the effects."

"Five points to Ravenclaw, but the answer is still incomplete."

The class looked around in confusion, none probably rising to the challenge. In the end, Harry chuckled and answered back.

"There is one last thing, but it is not a surprise you do not know about it. Try and find it out for an extracurricular O grade and one-hundred points to whoever brings me the complete answer. You can write home, scurry the library and ask the other professors… you can even ask the Headmaster if you wish. Of course you will have to tell me who told you…but I will not judge you even if you get the answer out of smuggling into the forbidden section."

The small murmurs in his class grew, but it was the look of determination in his sister's eyes that made him smile inwardly.

Hook, bait and sinker…

He wondered how the girl would take finding out a little hidden knowledge of the wizardry world.

In any case, as the lesson came to an end he was surprised to see the Greengrass girl remain afterwards. Lillian too was staying behind, but he doubted her reasons were as 'pure' as those of the Slytherin girl.

"Professor," the student asked as she moved closer to him. "May I talk with you in private?"

"Of course," he nodded before eying Lillian. "You can wait for me in my office Lillian, if you wish to talk to me."

His sister seemed on the verge of saying something, but she merely acknowledged his words and left.

Daphne waited a few more minutes, before finally blurting out.

"My father is interested in a business proposition."

"Your father?" he raised an eyebrow.

"He wishes to barter with you concerning the next head of the Slytherin house."

"Oh? Why does he think I would…enjoy the position?"

The girl looked downwards, her right arm surrounding her stomach in a sort of comforting action. Was she…oh, so that was why she said 'barter'.

"He thinks he can offer you things, and is not morally worried of what you might need."

"Perfect textbook answer, he gave you that line?"

"Yes," she replied with her face turning slightly green. "He said his contacts vouched for your integrity."

"He works in the muggle bank sector?" now that surprised him…he had expected Greengrass to be some sort of noble uppity title.

"Yes, he's a…" her voice trailed off into a tiny squeak, but it was enough for Harry to hear it.

"Oh… and your mother is…"

The girl grimaced, before nodding quietly.

"Yet they all…"

"My father's a good liar, and my mum's dead. My sister believes he really is a wizard too."

"I see," Harry brought his hand up to his chin in a thoughtful expression. "He is playing a dangerous game. Does he wish for backup, should things turn sour?"

"He does," she grimaced. "If this…if this comes out, then I'll be done with Slytherin."

"Your father really is keen on getting me on his side," Harry chuckled. "Might I ask what he told you to tell me, should I still prove unconvinced?"

The girl's face was now a completely green colour, as if she felt the need to retch it out. "He said I had to, or Astoria would have to try next."

"He seems a ruthless man," he pointed out with his tone perfectly schooled to neutrality. "What does he wishes from me? Political clout? Help with my contacts? Does he want me to protect you and your sister should he be discovered?"

"Vampires can procreate, can't they?" she whispered that part out as if it utterly repulsed her. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "He said to tell you that he'd have a contract ready for you to do as you please with me, as long as…as long as you have our…heir, recognized."

"So he's actually telling me that I can use you as I see fit, in exchange for conveniently ignoring the fact that he wishes me dead and my hypothetical son considered the heir of the Potter fortune?"

Daphne grimaced before nodding. "The son would be a Pureblood if father's ruse is kept, or a Half-blood if it isn't, then it would be a matter of marrying him well to open the circles of Pure-Blood society."

"Does he plan to live forever?" Harry asked with an amused grin.

"It's his way to show that he cares," the girl shuddered. "He…he wants to know soon enough what you'd like."

Harry closed his eyes.

The man was probably a banker. Contacts with the Dunsirns were probably a must. Had he racked up a large debt with them? Or had the Dunsirns decided to ingratiate themselves to him by sending him a tangential help? He actually gave points to the latter options. The Dunsirns had probably thought of sending him a thoughtful gift. He supposed he should send a letter…to 'write home' so to speak.

If only he wasn't more inclined on burning them all, he probably would have.

He suspected Daphne father wouldn't survive one day after the contract was signed, especially judging by how the girl had phrased it. It seemed the idea of consorting with a Vampire was sickening for the girl, and actually, while he did value the option of blood-bounding her…the contract was enticing too.

This however seemed too strange. He had to think about it calmly. Just like it could be the Dunsirns, it could all the same be the machination of another party to have a conveniently placed excuse to have him banished from England or killed. 'Enslaving a student' was probably a crime, never mind contracts or similar…the only difference was that a blood-bound held no material or tangent proof. A written contract instead did hold one.

"Tell him I will think about this, and make sure to write how I will contact our common friends to find out if he has…any skeletons he might need removed from his closet."

The girl's shoulders trembled ever so slightly, as the girl turned to leave. She already believed herself lost, and probably she was. It didn't actually matter to him: the selling of human beings had been so common in the old ages…

Bartering for a wife was no different than bartering for slaves in some part of the world even in the present year, and since wives were actually still exchanged for sheep or camels, why did the Greengrass girl think the Wizardry society was any different?

Maybe the girl believed she would find true love? Or maybe she held a secret desire to be swept away by a charming prince. The age difference was no sweetener to the bitter pill, but it could have been much worse: if her father had racked up a debt with the Dunsirn family, they might have just asked for the girl's flesh, and she _would_ _have been eaten alive_.

Sick as they were, he supposed they could have been worse.

He could have ended up bitten by a Nosferatu, or his sire might have been strong enough to resist being 'drunk' by him. Gangrels war-counsels usually did end with quite a few of their neonates dying from 'head-butting' against older vampires. The Daevas ended up losing their humanity to their vices extremely quick, and a few acts of depravation tended to generate a downward spiral of epic proportions.

Sure, there were also better choices, like the thoughtful and scheming Ventrues or the mysterious Lasombra. Even the Malkavians with their madness still held some sort of 'family feeling' that made them basically all the same, preventing backstabbing.

He had ended up with the Giovanni. The maddest bunch of mother-fuckers, and sometimes quite literally too, that held a Masquerade within a Masquerade.

You just didn't ask why your five year old nephew walked wrong the morning after your grandfather had arrived in your house. You didn't ask why your aunt seemed so keen on getting your brother alone in a room. You didn't ask why there were screams coming from your father's cellar. You did not ask why the meetings were held in a hospital at night, with fresh blood and a few babies missing from the nursery.

You did not ask. You did not care. The perversion that hid within the family was as much of a rot as the Vampires were on the world.

And that was the second rule of the Giovanni.

If the First was to Profit, the Second was to Ignore all that didn't harm you.

If you earned the family a wealthy contract worth a million, then you could do as you wished with the cousin you were tenderly in love with. If you settled deals that earned the family booming land or well-earning industries, then who cared if your uncle's daughter disappeared for a few days a week?

Nobody.

Just like nobody cares in the end for the orphan of war dying in the same instant somewhere in the world, or the man who is begging for the money to survive a cold night in New York. Just like the priest who pleads for mercy and asks for charity, yet still wears the gold, or the one who spreads the words of chastity and yet whose son goes to ravish the daughters of others at night.

It didn't matter, because ignorance was a rule the world itself bowed to.

The saying that you shouldn't look into another's mistakes, before dealing with your own, was morphed.

It became a mere 'don't look and we will not look back at you'.

Do not judge… And we will not judge you for your own sins.

Harry shuddered as he clasped his arms around himself. The cold settling in his soul as the beast growled in satisfaction. A normal human would have his blood frozen by such thoughts.

A normal human would scream, yell out his outrage at such words. He would claim himself innocent, spout nonsense about 'only monsters would think like that!' but he would be wrong. He would be wrong because while Vampires were indeed monsters, they were birthed from humans.

The Kindred's sins weren't born with the Kiss. They were just intensified. The wickedness was always in the heart of the human, and the condition just brought it out.

And for that the Daevas dance, and for that the Malkavians talk to the fractured psyche of their Network.

The Giovanni profit and their humanity is there, eroding the boundaries of proper and good with those of debauchery and sick.

Yet they hurt only themselves…humanity cannot claim the same.

Harry chuckled as the beast roared. The crashing sound of his soul breaking off a chunk was always a delightful thing to hear. Maybe that was the plan of the Dunsirns? To break his Humanity with temptation? To dent his mind with the polluted thoughts of a wicked beast?

It could be.

Yet did it matter?

Now, now it no longer did.

**Author's notes**

**Harry lost a point in Humanity for accepting a contract to enslave another human being. He is now at Humanity Four.**

**The Giovanni Family is actually portrayed like that. If you feel sick, then welcome to the World of Darkness, where the Sick live and rot all the same.**

**Harry did not deal with Nymphadora during the time-skip of a month. The obvious reason is because he's fighting the Beast's desire to simply snap the woman's neck every time he sees her, but now that his humanity has gone down…**

**Next chapter, there will be blood.**

**(Isn't there always with Vampire stories, the blood?)**


	8. Setting the Trap

Grey clouds loomed. His eyes gazed down at his mail, completely ignoring the harsh glare of both the Headmaster, Nymphadora, half of Gryffindor and what apparently was also a large chunk of those in Slytherin. If he had to take a polite guess, Harry could pretty much identify their reason in a petty and stupid line of thoughts that held its root on the names the goblet chose for the tournament.

That, and the fact he was currently ignoring everyone in favour of reading his mail.

A golden envelope sealed with wax was the first to be opened, and as the delicate fragrance reached his nose, he twitched his right eyebrow. Mithras, the Ventrue Prince of London, demanded a meeting to ensure the laws of the Camarilla were respected. Albeit he was formally recognized as a Kindred accepted within the confines of the Islands, he was still required to present himself in front of him for tradition's sake.

He would have to politely refuse and claim that the Masquerade would risk breakage, should he actively try and make contact with Kindred during his _forced_ stay in Hogwarts. He'd make it all seem like a calculated risk with Dumbledore's continuous snooping around, maybe pointing the Prince in the direction of the old wizard's spies.

He supposed that would be enough to solve Dumbledore's presence.

He folded the letter and then calmly ate it, before moving to the second one. He actually repressed the urge to 'smile' at the shocked sight of the staff members near him. Did they really believe he'd leave a letter which could potentially infringe the Masquerade in their sight for long?

The second one belonged to a Dunsirn, and if the blotches of blood were of any indication, it had passed through at least three intermediaries before reaching him.

The last one —the 'sender' of the letter— was probably a butcher. A butcher of humans judging by the smell the small droplets of blood showed him.

This message was brief and to the point.

_We got you tender flesh, more is to come. Deliver us the way in._

Of course the Dunsirn didn't have to mince their words. They weren't even asking much…ironically speaking: only the key to enter the wards, which was without a doubt guarded by the Phoenix in Dumbledore's office. He could pretty much imagine what would happen should he not comply. If he didn't comply with the Prince of London, there wasn't actually a problem: they would _subtly_ let each other intend that they'd never cross path.

Something similar to: 'Sorry Prince of London, I'm not staying long, and I don't care what you're planning since I'm a worthless bug. I'll be on my way as soon as i can, so don't send archons my way.'

The Dunsirns on the other hand…they were family.

And family always stuck together. At least, Kindred families with a penchant for cannibalistic desires and incestuous relationships did. His own family had preferred to keep him in the cellar, waiting for the right moment to get rid of him.

A broken soldier wasn't useful to anyone, after all.

He actually turned thoughtful. The wards could be bypassed. If they only wanted a way in, he could provide it. The map, the Marauder's map, listed all secret passages and ways in and out of the school as well as their passwords. There was one passage that apparently led outside, the one beneath the hunched statue of the witch.

He could misdirect the Dunsirns…which was actually something to be expected, but he didn't want to risk the passage really working for them too. If an entrance to Hogwarts was revealed and found…

There would be chaos. Wizards were powerful tools if used on the muggles, and controlling them from a young age? An adult wizard was difficult to 'bound' —not impossible, but extremely difficult. Hogwarts in comparison, filled with the dungeons and the unused classrooms, was like walking into a supermarket or picking up the order at the butcher.

The third letter was by itself devoid of much complicated markings or embellishments. It simply held his name as the receiver, and nothing more.

He opened the envelope and calmly began to read the contents, frowning slightly along the way.

_Dear Mister Potter,_

_It has come to my attention what unique situation you have been forced into. Since I rarely could hope for a greater boon than this, I ask of you if you would be willing to turn your gaze to other more…exquisite takings elsewhere, and thus politely avoid letting your fangs anywhere near my son's neck. I would be furthermore delighted if you would take the time during the holidays for a nightly visit in my humble abode, as we have a few things to discuss about masks and balls._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Avead Inibaz, Whip of the Avead._

Even an idiot could see that 'Avead' was Daeva written in the opposite direction. He snorted as he baled the letter, before chewing down on it too. Finally, he settled his gaze on the last one. A black coloured letter that held the Gringotts symbol on it, and that usually meant there was a will reading he had to attend.

He widened his eyes briefly, as the content of this particular missive were read.

_To the esteemed attention of Lord Harry James Potter,_

_By the laws of Gringotts, you are invited to the will reading of your parents to be taken place at midnight, on the first night of November._

_By the laws of Wizardry England, we are forced to ask that you bring your guardian with you. We are of course not responsible should you fail to comply, but we will be granted permission to execute you, should you find yourself guardian-less and hostile._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Griphook._

The small slip of paper that had come together with the more official letter was deftly picked up and unwrapped, to reveal a more minute and quick calligraphy.

_Since you are of American citizenship, England laws are worthless within Gringotts. The letters are subjected to scrutiny before being sent, but since Mr. Malfoy generously asked me to word the letter in such a way…I know better than to incur the wrath of Kindred, we among the goblins who know will keep your secrets and your gold safe. _

He knew that. He knew that even before reading the small slip of paper. He hadn't survived New York as a Giovanni contact without knowing the loop-holes in the system. He had been forced to bail out quite a few Vampires from the local cop-house before they got the first rays of the sun to hit them.

The fact that a goblin had gone to such lengths though…

Goblins weren't kind people. They didn't do things because they deemed you a good guy, a worthy guy or a somewhat important guy. Heck, even the Prince would have been treated like dirt, without the money he held in his bank account and his might.

Goblins however, weren't fools. Sure, they had dragons. Sure, they had quite the bit of wealth and power amassed. Yet they lacked one fundamental thing: a sun to shine over their heads when they went deep beneath the ground.

And in the darkness, only vampires ruled undefeated.

"Harry," he was halfway towards his classroom, when Nymphadora's voice broke through the silence of the hallway. "We need to talk."

He maturely ignored her.

"_Furnunculous_!" he pivoted on the spot, swatting the spell with his hand. Nothing appeared on the surface of his unblemished skin as he narrowed his eyes on the now red-haired Metamorphmagus. She took a hesitant step backwards too at the sight of his angered face.

"You have my attention," he whispered taking a few steps forward. "You better not waste my time."

"Did you put Lillian's name in the goblet?" she asked him, her wand still poised to strike.

"No?" he replied. "I have a deal with the Headmaster, you know?"

She snorted. "Yeah, right… am I supposed to believe you're actually ignorant of everything? You're probably laughing your ass off right now. People can die in this thing!"

He shrugged. "Not my problem."

"You swore to protect her!"

"I was what, thirteen?"

"Still, it should count for something Harry!" she took a step forward.

"Don't you dare call me by my name!" he hissed back. "I am Professor Potter or Mister Potter, not 'Harry'! You can _kiss_ any chance of being friends with _me_ goodbye, do you understand me?"

There was a light jolt of electricity that ran throughout Nymphadora's body as the auror walked as if entranced by Harry's face closer and closer until her body pressed against his. It was the spur of a moment, but she kissed him with strength. Her tongue explored his throat as his did the same, but the moment did not last.

Within instants, he had pushed her back —his salty after-taste still on her tongue tasted so sweet now that she thought about it— and was making a scowl. "This doesn't change things, Nymphadora," he hissed. "I will do what I can for Lillian," he added then, softly. "But that is all."

Of course she had kissed him because he needed to be convinced. Clearly, there wasn't any other reason for the auror to kiss the man, right?

They hadn't talked for days, and now already kissing him…clearly it wasn't because she had been hypnotized by him. She was resistant to vampires' abilities! She knew she was!

The moment Harry left Nymphadora, giving his back to her, he smiled briefly.

The Guard Dog can always change sides…provided you hand over the right size of steak.

He shuddered momentarily: had he really compared himself to a size of raw meat? It had to be his Dunsirn heritage he supposed. The classroom he walked in was quiet, deadly so.

Lillian was standing in the last rows, to the side and with her gaze settled firmly on her parchment. She seemed to be trembling like a leaf, probably in fright of what his reaction might be. The rest of the students were giving her a wide berth, scared to act before he had given his own 'evaluation' of the situation. It was surprisingly smart of them.

He ignored their gazes of disbelief as he began his lesson as normal, entering the delicate discussion of ecology of undead creatures, and the reason why Ghouls could actually be optimal house-pets, should they be trained in taking care of rats and vermin.

"Professor," Kevin's hand shot high as the boy caught his attention.

"Yes, Mr. Entwhistle?"

"Is there a way to ignore the age-line of the headmaster for the Goblet of fire?"

"There most certainly are ways," Harry retorted. "But we were not speaking about this, were we?"

"Professor," another voice piped in. "Is there a way out of the tournament?"

"I think I will remove points for questions not pertinent to the subject at hand starting from now."

"Professor, are undead creatures something that past tournaments held? And if not, why?"

"Five points to Slytherin, I admit that was well phrased," he chuckled slightly. "Now, really, let us continue with the lesson. I will speak with my sister alone and away from prying eyes or ears, as it should be and as I hope it would be if any of you were to end up in her situation."

Chastised, the class resumed its silence while Lillian's face looked sour. She was probably suspecting he would fault her or accuse her too…how easy it was to read her expressions —she really carried her heart on her sleeve.

As the class ended, many of his students lingered for a few minutes more than necessary, before quickly leaving after he gave them a quite long glare.

Alone with his sister, Harry gestured for her to move closer.

Hesitantly, she did so.

"Harry," she whimpered. "I didn't do it. You have to believe me! I don't know how, or who, but I didn't, I swear I didn't!"

"I know," he replied with a hushed tone. "I know," gently he hugged her, letting his right hand caress her hair. "You're a good girl, aren't you?"

"Uh-Uh!" she emphatically answered back with a humming tone.

"You're not worried?" he remarked, as he broke the hug much to the girl's displeasure.

Lillian pouted, before shaking her head. "The headmaster said he was going to do something about it, so I don't have to worry."

"And what if there isn't a way? What then?"

"Then I'll find a way! And you'll help me brother, right?" the way her eyes looked at him, it was like those of a tiny chick looking at their mother-hen. Had he been alive, he supposed his heart would have skipped a beat.

Had he been alive, he would have completely missed the underlying subtle tone of lust her voice showed and displayed, as the blood called back to his own and the darkness slowly but surely corrupted all that was within the girl's soul.

He rested his right hand on her cheek, using his thumb to gently rub it as he made a small smile.

"I'll do what I can," he admitted. "You should speak with Neville though: he is the Hogwarts' champion, and if he has begun training…you could train with him?"

"He's a Hufflepuff! He won't help me, I'm a Gryffindor…can't you help me, brother? Please?" she whimpered with a pout.

"No, I cannot," Harry sighed, rolling his eyes. "I am proud of you however, and I will be even more if you were to forfeit every task as they come by…but if you really want to compete…"

"Uh? Wait, but you said there's no way out!"

"Yes, but you can forfeit the task if you at least try something. Like…I don't know, try and throw a Jinx at a dragon and then forfeit, or try and swim around the lake a bit and then forfeit, or try and enter a maze for a few minutes and then forfeit," he shrugged as he inwardly smiled.

Lillian blinked twice. He mentally cursed himself. Of course the girl wasn't going to understand. Neville had more brainpower with his Hufflepuff brain than what Lillian could ever even dare to obtain.

But he could still hope everything would be fine.

Hope is such a _fickle_ thing.

As Lillian left, Harry sighed. He was missing the beauty of New York, the bustling cities and the tall sky-scrapers. And what for? To spend his time in England? Wouldn't the girl be more protected in New York to begin with? That wouldn't be a bad thing, now that he thought more about it.

He'd have to find a way on a private jet with Lillian, but that wouldn't be the most difficult part. It would be making sure the New York kindred didn't get a whiff of the girl.

There were pros and cons in both his choices.

He drummed his fingers on the desk, before collecting the homework and heading off to his quarters.

He opened the door, and the next instant a wooden stake came straight at his chest.

Harry stumbled backwards, the pile of papers falling as he rolled to the side, avoiding the lower swinging of the stake. Those were practiced motions. Those were the motions of a hunter, not those of a rambling student who was angry or was trying to stake him.

Everything had to have been betted on this instant, he supposed.

The moment the hunter lost the chance, the human in him began to run. Harry snarled, lifting himself up from the ground and narrowing his gaze on the pathetic meat sack.

He was about to pounce, when the sharp scream of the hunter echoed through the hallway.

Screaming, the figure masked with a heavy wool cloth began to writhe on the ground. Surrounding the man, his 'guards' began to playfully poke into the real world…smashing the man's kidneys, bruising his liver, tearing him apart from within.

He reined in his beast calmly, twitching slightly his neck as he walked towards the would-be hunter.

Calmly, he removed the man's mask.

And he snarled as the face of Filch appeared writhing from the pain.

"So," Harry amusedly spoke. "You wanted something from me, mister caretaker?"

"Pah!" Argus spat on Harry's face as he coughed raucously. "You killed me pretty!" he snarled, blood oozing out of his eyes and face as a particularly vicious Ghost slammed the insides of his brain around.

"Ar…yeah…ye won't…ye…" a sickening squelch later, and Argus Filch lay dead at his feet, killed by his own spectral guards. He supposed this could be enough. He narrowed his eyes on the man, before turning to the closest of the ghosts.

He pointed to the corpse.

The ghost narrowed its eyes.

He pointed again.

The ghost snarled.

He grabbed the very essence of the ghost, slamming it within the body. He gritted his teeth as he poured the unholy power of the Vitae to bind the ghost to the corpse of the caretaker, invisible shackles binding the ethereal figure to the body.

Minutes later, Argus Filch opened his eyes.

Only it wasn't Argus Filch soul within the body.

"Now Argus, go back to your work," Harry gently cooed the twitching the body, who nodded numbly before heading off. He turned around and walked the other way. Sure enough, the Caretaker had moved the paintings around his room and outside to get a 'blind zone'. It spoke of quite the preparation…which hadn't been enough.

His muscles felt sore…albeit it was more precise to say he believed he should feel his muscle sores. Like with magic, Willpower was what made Vampires' disciplines powerful…you didn't just have to do, you had to believe. You had to assert your will upon the very fabrics of reality and tear it asunder for your own purposes.

You had to break the boundaries of life and death to become a Vampire, but to become a true Vampire you had to understand…

The world was their cradle of joys and sins, their sorrows and virtues intertwined into a globe of water and earth. They were more than just the 'creatures of the night'.

From the very beginning, the Giovanni had torn apart the chains and the shackles of mortality for something more. Necrophilia was a more pleasant pastime…if the corpse twitched.

"So, there are Hunters at Hogwarts?" the painting of the Daeva remarked playfully, as Harry placed it back in its original spot.

"Don't ask as if you didn't know," he retorted. "It makes sense, though I don't think Filch was the only one."

"You should expect werewolves next then," the painting remarked. "Werewolves always have a reason to pick a fight."

He scoffed. It wasn't funny.

"I'm not fighting a Werewolf. Those claws? They'd rip me to shreds."

"A silver bullet does wonders against those beasts," the pictured vampire supplied. "In my times we used silver arrow tips," he remarked. "They weren't as effective."

"I can imagine," Harry rolled his eyes. "Anything else you wish to partake with me? Like, I don't know, a juicy secret?"

"No."

"Of course not," he clipped out. "Secrets are never easily given."

"Only an idiot would say the truth out right," the Daeva shrugged. "You should know that better than everyone else."

"I suppose I should," he admitted. "Was it Dumbledore? Then again…do I want to know?"

"Maybe you should have accepted the Prince's meeting? You do understand that alone, no kindred can survive forever?"

"That's just a myth," Harry snorted.

"But the lights of London call to you… Isn't that right?"

"I admit I am going slightly claustrophobic in here," he murmured, holding his finger to his robes' neck. "Maybe I could ask for a night in town?"

"A portkey would be a nice idea, and I know of this delicious art gallery within the city that caters to the needs of us…diverse."

"How old is your knowledge?" he retorted.

"Recent, since I do have another frame there after all," the vampire in the picture smiled kindly. "It has been recently pulled out and placed in storage though…if you could persuade the owner to put me back…I would be thankful."

"And you would use your newfound freedom to get back at your other kindred? Or maybe act as a liaison between the two and spy on me?" Harry drawled out. "There is no such thing as a clear cut deal."

"Indeed," the Daeva remarked. "However I can offer you far more than petty boons. I have memorized the serial codes and keys of my European bank accounts, plus a few Swiss ones just there, ripening up with no-one to claim them…that money must feel dreadfully alone."

"You understand that if you're lying to me on this, I might have to take measures, like…_ripping_ things out of anger?"

"Of course! Yet for a few grands…if you understand me, of course, because by 'grand' I don't mean just thousands…I mean 'a hundred and more'."

"Now my interest is picked," Harry smiled briefly. "Very well, I'll get us a portkey to London…let me make this clear however…I will rip you to shreds if you even dare short-hand me."

"Then I say…" the Daeva in the picture smiled sweetly. "We have a deal. Do we not?"

"We have one, for the moment," he retorted. "But no deal is official without a Harpy is it?"

"Well, I'm actually dead now," the picture sighed. "You really want to start working on what ifs?"

"No," he shrugged. "Destruction sentence sounds good enough of a check."

Of course, getting permission would be quite different.

It was the following night, as his study group arrived that the idea actually became feasible.

"I wonder," he began out loud as his 'students' delivered their reports. "How many of you would like to take part in an excursion into the muggle world?"

Everyone quieted down as Harry made his best 'I'm just putting this out here'. "The most any of you see is the Leaky Cauldron I suppose, and even among you muggleborns there are certain areas of true London you have never seen," he smiled gingerly. "So, I was thinking…what if an adult wizard showed you around London? Not just Diagon Alley that is, but around the true places wizards and witches go when they want to unwind, or the magical sections within the libraries around the capital…and so on."

"We could go on a tour?" Hermione's eyes shined. "Like…the National Gallery or the Tower?"

"Maybe not the Tower," he supplied back. He didn't want to bargain with the Spectres haunting the place. "But there are quite the things a class of students might find worth seeing."

"Sorry professor, but would we all be going out at night? Isn't there a curfew?" Zabini remarked narrowing his eyes slightly.

"I was going to ask your mother for help too, Blaise. I've been told she is very renowned around the social circles of London, and this doesn't need to be a visit only for the muggleborns, but also for the Purebloods who need to discover where the true etiquette and nobility of London still resides," he smiled gently. "Of course everyone is free to choose whether to come or not."

"I can come too?" Lillian asked hesitantly.

"We'll be going to muggle London, dressed as Muggles or with clothes transfigured like Muggles," he replied. "I doubt any Pureblood extremist would be looking for the Girl-Who-Lived there."

"Will the Headmaster give permission though? What with the tournament and everything else…" Tracey Davis supplied thoughtfully.

"He will," Harry nodded. "Of that I have no doubt. You don't need to answer me now though: it will probably be sometime before the first challenge of the tournament however, so if you can write home and ask your parents if underage, it would be good. For those of age, the choice is yours."

"My parents could help!" Hermione spoke excitedly after she remained behind. "I mean, Harry —gosh, professor! Sorry," she stammered. "If you're asking for help then it would be…"

"No," Harry quickly blocked her. "It is best your parents do not worry," he added. His right hand gently stopped on the girl's shoulder. "Trust me on this Hermione: everything is going to be fine without you disturbing your parents."

Her hazel eyes narrowed for a moment. Then they seemed to melt the worries hidden behind them, as her lips moved to a light grin.

"It was always like this, wasn't it?" she remarked. "The calm and collected Hufflepuff telling the over-excited Gryffindor that everything was going to be fine. Even when it wasn't going to be fine or it couldn't be fine."

"Hey," he scoffed back, shrugging. "It always did turn out fine."

"That time I got lost in the Forbidden forest and you came to get me out? You got lost yourself. We ended up losing a hundred points each for that stunt."

"Maybe, but you earned fifty back for the courage demonstrated in looking for your stolen things, and I for having valiantly come to a friend's aid," he murmured with a bitter smile. "Then I got seventy-five more from Professor Sprout."

"I got eighty from Professor McGonagall —she never believed a first year could have the galls to go against the rules so much and with so little benefit to herself." Hermione smiled fondly at the memory. "It was barely six years ago, wasn't it?"

"Time changes people," Harry shrugged. "It twists and deforms them until nothing but gnarled roots are left behind, a pale imitation of their past selves."

"Nice…is it from a poem?"

"No," he shook his head. "It is taken from the weaves of reality that bind and chain all that is and all that is not."

"You never were one for speaking in riddles," Hermione supplied with a light giggle. "You're making fun of me right now, right?"

"You have no idea," he answered with his right hand now moving to the girl's cheek. "Be careful," he added then with a tone of urgency. He removed his hand as if burned, opening and closing its palm before turning towards the desk. "You shouldn't trust me like this."

"Harry?"

"Listen," he began, fumbling for the words. "You shouldn't come to the tour of London."

"What? Harry, you're not making any sense! Why shouldn't I? Think of all the things you can show us, and I should miss them!?"

"Hermione," Harry spun around quickly. "Knowledge isn't only power. It is _damnation_. _We see things only as we are constructed to see them, and can gain no idea of their absolute nature. With five feeble senses we pretend to comprehend the boundlessly complex cosmos, yet other beings with wider, stronger, or different range of senses might not only see very differently the things we see, but might see and study whole worlds of matter, energy, and life which lie close at hand yet can never be detected with the senses we have."_ He finished his quote long enough to walk once more closer to Hermione, who was now widening her eyes in shock.

"That's…Lovecraft," she supplied. "You gave me his works as gift for last Christmas," she murmured. "I couldn't sleep for days with the fear of having eldritch horrors under the bed."

"And what of those hidden behind the skin of men and women?" Harry asked then. "What of those who don the mask of humans, of happy and normal people?"

"You are starting to scare me, Harry." Hermione whispered. "If there's something you want to tell me then please tell me."

"Always the brave one," he smiled kindly. "Always looking for answers, even when the results might not be to your likings," he chuckled grimly. "Ah Hermione…named after the Queen of Sicily of Shakespeare's play, you have no idea the irony that strikes within me knowing that."

"Harry? You're really creeping me out right now."

"She dies of a broken heart, you know? I'm sure you'd rather have been called after Hermes, or one of the Greek's names. Unfortunately, you were drawn by the name of a Shakespeare's novel…which strangely has a nice ending, doesn't it? Everyone meets again, and even Hermione, killed, returns to life from a statue created of her." He smiled. "I wonder, were I to make a statue of your corpse, would you return to life?"

Hermione's skin paled beyond the normal, as she seemed to be shuddering and tightening her lips in fear. All appearances of warmth, of normalcy that Harry had displayed till then were now gone, replaced with…

With a monster in human skin?

"Well then, Hermione," Harry exhaled slowly. "Do you understand now?" he smiled as he gestured to the door. "Never trust me again, Hermione," he whispered. "Never."

Furiously, the brown haired girl dashed out of the room, her robes fluttering as she ignored the girl behind the door waiting for a chance to enter herself. Harry just stared with amusement at Susan Bones slipping in and closing the door behind her, the red haired Hufflepuff coyly smiling as she went for her robes' neckline.

"Can I trust you, Harry?" Susan whispered sultrily, taking a few more steps closer to him.

And Harry just smiled, and made his best charming face as he hummed his approval.

Somewhere, deep down beneath the sick twistedness of his mind and his frozen heart, his soul actually hummed in approval.

It wasn't about scaring Hermione.

It was about saving her, from the most dangerous threat that Hogwarts, or the Wizardry world, would ever have.

Vampires would be out hunting that night…he'd make preparations and gather around the hunters. He'd do as the Giovanni motto spoke…

And he would profit from it.

Blood bounding young wizard nobles, like nothing more than wild game. He'd give the ticket and claim the riches, as those around would salivate and ask for a piece of the pie.

He couldn't sell Hermione however. He couldn't sell his sister. The rest though…

The rest was fair game.

He'd do that with a smile and a light-hearted chuckle. He'd point the finger with the hand holding the flute filled with champagne during a nightly visit at the Gallery, and one of the most distinguished nobleman or noblewoman would have a word with the student in question in a private corner.

And then they would come back, slightly changed, curious of meeting again the strange man or woman that had appealed to them.

And during the Christmas holidays, they would.

Only…they would not be coming back.

He would instead, with Lillian and Hermione and his much needed blood dolls. He would be coming back.

And Dumbledore would have a mess in his hands to solve…

If the old wizard survived an eye to eye with the Prince of London, then he probably would be in need of a far greater scandal.

Like a teacher sleeping with a student…

…or a Death-Eater polyjuiced as Alastor Moody mysteriously going on a murderous rampage against the first years of Hogwarts.

The Death of Innocence…the death of children…

That _always_ got to the nerves of people.

**Author's notes**

**Mostly filler.**

**With nice reactions and Harry-Hermione talking with snippets of past.**


	9. Auctioning Off The Merchandise

Grey clouds loomed. The sun barely filtered its rays through the thick nimbus of condensed water that moved drifted by the winds. Albus Dumbledore gritted his teeth as his eyes travelled across the entire parchment now laid open in front of him. He couldn't believe it.

He had been called to the Wizengamot on a very urgent notice, concerning the lack of faith of the ministry on his tenure as Headmaster.

He would have to talk for hours, only to reiterate nothing new and nothing that the other members of the wizardry parliament didn't already know. The only reason Fudge would have gone that far was easy to see: somebody wanted him out of the castle on that particular day.

He had begun checking up with his contacts, to ask questions about vampire society and if some terms made any sense to them.

He hadn't heard back from a single one of his spies.

Still, he knew it was only a matter of time. He couldn't postpone this —the message was authentic and even sealed with wax before he had opened— and he couldn't avoid this. He had to go.

The proposal of Harry to go to London on the very same day with his study group reeked of suspicious, but if during the day the students were to be followed by Madam Burbage, he feared more about those who had actually been granted permission to attend the 'night' study.

Mostly muggleborns, he suspected they thought their professor would lead them to some sort of…nightclub, or something like that.

He didn't dare take the chance.

Still, for that day Harry would be out of Hogwarts himself —he had already departed and the castle felt warmer— because he had to prepare.

Albus Dumbledore felt as if he had suddenly all his years doubled. Tom was still somewhere around, trying to get his hands on Lillian, and yet…

Yet he couldn't help but feel that by forcing Harry to come to Hogwarts, he had simply increased the problem beyond his very abilities.

Meanwhile, deep within the underground of London's metro, a suited man began to walk at a leisured pace towards one of the metallic and always closed doors that no sane human —especially dressed in that state— would ever dare to open.

Yet he did it anyway, slowly starting to descend the stairway that would lead him all the way into the Nosferatu's nest beneath the city.

Behind him, he could feel one of Dumbledore's men follow him while hiding behind a notice-me-not charm. It didn't take much.

Twenty-four steps later, and a sick gurgling noise —as if somebody had just tore through a neck, to say— was all that Harry needed to be alone within the nest. Well, as 'alone' as being surrounded by vampires who could disappear from sight could be defined as.

"Is the archivist available? I think the feast was a nice touch, wouldn't you believe it so?" he inquired peacefully, the shadows lingering around him moving both closer and yet further away.

"You're not Ventrue," a hiss and a snarl ripped the air ferociously as a hulking figure deformed and twisted trudged forth from the depth of the darkest corner. The Nosferatu…

Poor souls of sinners forced to repent by their very own kin, in such an ironic way so that the beautiful, the arrogant, the rich would become the ugly, the penitent and the poor.

"I am Harry Dunsirn," sometimes, the right surname was all that was needed to open the doors…even if he hated using it. "Of clan Giovanni," he added as an afterthought. "Surely the archivist is available tonight, isn't he?"

"He is," another voice added to the fray of hisses and rats' squeaks. Droplets of blood coalesced from the ground to his side, forming into the figure of an elderly and extremely ugly looking lady. "The question is why you have not presented yourself to the Prince yet."

"I arrived during the day," he replied calmly. "The underground my only way through."

There was silence, if for a moment.

"Harry Potter," the old lady snarled then. "The Vampire who entered Hogwarts," she added. "You carry much on your shoulders, do you not? I expected someone…more refined."

"And I expect you to understand that if knowledge is power," he replied, "then maybe we could come up with an agreement."

"An agreement?" a third voice hissed. Harry knew that more would be coming out as he spoke —it really wasn't that difficult to understand, really. Nosferatu were ugly. So ugly not even humans could tolerate them, no matter how saint or pious. Their ugliness was unholy, and no piety would be given upon them from the cattle. Only other kindred barely tolerated them. Only their kin sharing their fate could understand.

Nosferatus were a tightly knitted community, nearly on par with the Giovanni's 'family' ideal.

The only difference was that while it was perfectly acceptable for a Giovanni to be a _motherfucker_, literally and figuratively, the Nosferatu held up to the fact that everyone already hated them for their faces…adding something else would just be overkill. They worked as information brokers, as spies and inquisitors. Harpies usually came from them, as well as executioners.

"I will first speak with the archivist," Harry replied calmly. "Then we might be able to strike a deal over some…young wizards and witches, who might be moving through London tonight."

"I see the haste now," a fourth voice, gravely and old-sounding boomed through the now cramped quarters beneath the metro. "But tell me, why should we trust you with the archivist?"

"I just have some questions for him," Harry remarked. "Nothing more...and nothing less."

"Well then, presentation to the Prince will take its time I suppose," another voice added roughly. "Let him go to the archivist —we can't really hold his clients out now, can we?"

"And he did bring us something to eat," a sixth one mumbled.

"Follow," the first Nosferatu, the bulky and twisted one, growled threateningly as he turned around and began to walk deeper through the unused corridors that literally connected the underground to the sewer system.

Harry was glad he had a change of clothes ready at the _Pizzeria Franca_ close by. He suspected the night would be far from over however, as he couldn't help but wonder how long it would be until another clan came close to him. He supposed that night at the Elysium would be surprisingly filled with contacts.

It was the law of offer and demand after all.

Everyone wanted their own pet wizard.

A metal door was swung aside violently, slamming against the other side of the wall as the Nosferatu giant grumbled in.

"Harry! There's someone here for you!" the Nosferatu snickered at that, before suddenly muttering "uh?"

The next moment, the giant Nosferatu was slammed with strength across the sewer, hitting the ground as his bones broke and his limbs twisted apart. Harry took a step backwards and then _kneeled_.

Ambrogino Giovanni looked perfectly normal.

He didn't look a single year past fifty, and the dark shades of Obfuscate hid his most important features…but it didn't change the fact that he was a hulk of a man, on par with the Nosferatu giant he had so easily swatted aside as nothing more than a broken doll he had finished playing with. His left hand was hidden behind his back, and as his tired-looking eyes settled on him, they blazed with _interest_.

It was never a good thing.

"Dunsirn," the arcane scholar gruffly spoke. His voice carried over, like the power of his words, to where his beast lay trembling in its own cage. "Where is my door?"

"My lord, it will be after the new year," he whispered back with his gaze downwards. "In June, the twenty-fourth."

"I see," the Elder vampire spoke. "Do not betray…my expectations, Dunsirn."

And then the Elder left, leaving him behind to quake and tremble as his body remembered what fear was and what a true enemy was. It wasn't the meeting of an elderly wizard with a young one, or that of a trainee and its trainer. It was the meeting of prey and predator, and in that circumstance…he wasn't even a prey, but simply a speck of a flea.

He carefully waited a few more minutes, before a tired sounding voice came to him from within the door.

"Enter or leave, infant, but close the door," the voice was filled with the typical old man tone, the one that Dumbledore was fond of.

He entered, trembling still slightly as he closed the door, before schooling his features back to the impassivity they had held minutes before. "I am…"

"I know who you are, Harry James Potter," the voice came from behind a stack of thick leather bound books. "And I know what you wish to ask. The price, however, will have to be decided."

"Is it true then?" he queried. "Was he?"

"He might have been, as he might have not," the other Harry remarked. "If you want an answer however…the price must be paid."

"What is it that might interest you then, scholar? A book from Hogwarts? A collection of blood dolls? An enemy to be destroyed?"

"I plan on siring a child," the scholar remarked. "I need an adequate candidate."

"The Prince knows?"

"He does," the Nosferatu scoffed.

"You wish a wizard or a witch?"

"Either will be fine, as long as their minds will be up to the task," the vampire softly murmured. "You already have someone?"

Harry smiled back.

"Oh yes, yes I do."

_At Hogwarts…_

Luna knew she hadn't placed her name on the list. She knew her father would never give her permission for something like this. She knew and yet there she was all the same, eying with a mixture of surprise and fear the strangely big group who would be going to Muggle London dressed as muggles for the day.

Of them only a few would remain for the night tour held by the other professor, but she hadn't been written on that one.

So maybe she was just imagining things. The clothes had been transfigured by the kind-hearted professor McGonagall, and Madam Burbage had given the necessary corrections. They would all go as a 'tourist' group. A few wizards of the ministry —a certain Arthur Weasley too— would make sure they wouldn't be lost.

She wondered how the ministry had known.

"Luna, are you all right?" she was asked by Hermione, always worrying about the others and never herself. She looked like a nervous wreck —hadn't she slept at all?

"Hermione, you're covered in Nargles," she remarked. The tiny things always floating around the edge of her vision seemed to literally love bouncing off against the bossy Gryffindor.

"No, I'm not," Hermione scoffed. "I'm fine."

"Must be the Nargles then," she remarked ignoring the _girl's_ words on the trouble of Nargles. She could see them, so they were simply addling her friend's mental abilities.

"Nargles don't exist, Luna!" the girl snapped back. Luna recoiled, as if visibly struck while holding on the hem of her robe near her chest.

"I'm sorry," the Gryffindor added then. "It's just…I'm sorry, all right?"

Luna remained quiet, her head turned to avoid the other girl's gaze. She shuffled her feet for a moment, before taking a few steps forward and moving towards the other side of the crowd, away from the Gryffindor.

She didn't turn, but she knew that this would probably be the last time she ever met with the Gryffindor. The Nargles all laughed around her after all…

And the shadows crept with their bony hands around her shade's neck.

_Harry_

Twirling lights and dazzling streets filled with people. He breathed and exhaled, ecstatic at the sights and the crowds. He nearly began to laugh maniacally, as people passed him by as he walked, the streets peeling themselves apart as he trudged on in the city of the night.

There wasn't the might of the never sleeping New York. There wasn't the darkness of the ancient London. There wasn't the blood and gore of the twisted Tremere…but he could _see_.

Twisted faces hiding in the shadows, knifes gleaming in the empty back alleys. Bobbies walking with wicked grins or glazed over eyes, some drunk on things best left unspoken. The depraved walked with a smile, the kindred mixed with the living in the game as old as the night itself.

"Tell me more!" a voice spoke happily, a dreamy gaze over a boyish looking man in his young twenties. Perfect and flawless skin mixed with a beautiful knee-trembling smile needed little to convince a thirty-year old woman of their beauty. Even less was needed when they played the toy-boy part.

The youth just smiled savagely, before moving his gaze to where he was and sending him a coquettish smirk. He replied with a scoff and a roll of his eyes.

The Daeva sundered away with his catch, winking at him as he went. Harry kept on walking alongside the streets, as a pub's door next to him opened to throw out a drunken patron. The impromptu bouncer snorted, before turning his gaze to him and sending a fang-filled grin his way.

He made a brief 'hello' with his hand, before walking on.

In the streets and on the rooftops, rats and swarms followed him as dogs the size of wolves barked from the back alleys in his direction.

The night was young and filled with game, and he was the hunter of wits and the sharpest spear of all for that single fleeting instant.

They would follow him for tonight, for he would give them a prize beyond others. They would follow him and bathe in his glory, sending screams of joy to the skies as corruption would spread throughout England.

In the midst of it all he walked, the kindred around him growing more and more in number the closer he got to the seat of the Prince within the city of London.

Whips and Sheriffs patrolled the streets just outside a seemingly innocuous door that led into an old nineteenth century apartment complex. The double metal doors opened slowly, their hinges well-oiled. The Keeper of the Elysium reached towards him with a smile, clad in fitting and tight leather clothes that seemed to only accentuate her fleshy forms. There wasn't such a thing as a 'turn on' for kindred. It was distasteful to go around naked, but nobody prohibited a Daeva from showing a slightly more amount of skin than normal.

The elders didn't care and the young ones couldn't —generally, many simply became angry at the fact that their emotions and their…thing were 'dead'.

He delivered to the Keeper his jacket and his weapons —a stake, a small sword and a vial of petrol. It was sort of ironic that all kindreds were more suited to kill one another, rather than mortal men.

"His Highness will receive thee in a moment, Infant Potter," the smile and the way of being called said it all. The Prince knew he was of a higher generation than him, and he was displeased he hadn't presented himself to him sooner.

The doors to the court opened in silence before the Keeper of the Elysium, who walked inside and closed them behind without as much as a backward glance. Harry remained quiet with his arms limp at his sides.

What seemed like hours but were probably minutes passed by, before the doors opened again. He stepped inside, his name and rank heralded by the Keeper of the Elysium as he stepped forward, reaching through the massive hall of the Prince's court filled with drapes and what-not.

Etiquette demanded him to prostrate himself to the Prince, because of the different rank. He gritted his teeth as he followed the rules of tradition and of the Camarilla, touching the floor with his forehead before rising back up on one knee, his gaze fixed on the Prince itself.

"His Highness, Methuselah Prince Mithras, holder of London, supreme authority within this noble court, declares the meeting for the assignment of blood dolls and Kiss to begin tonight, in this most noble night. May the Infant present his merchandise under the watchful and serene gaze of his grace, Prince Mithras," the Keeper spoke clearly, her eyes lustfully moving from the Prince to Harry and back.

"I have twenty-seven wizards, three of whom are in their last years at Hogwarts," he began. "I will now remove from my pocket the maps of the tour I will make the merchandise take. I will not be held responsible should the bid winner fail to secure their prize. All those who wish to bid must be forewarned that precedence is held by Augusts Giovanni, represented by my words, Prince Mithras and whether there is equality of rank, then it will be to a Giovanni first and lacking that to the highest bidder. To preserve anonymity, the bid papers must only contain the rank and the clan, and then present themselves forward as they win the bid."

Quietly, he removed from within his inner pockets a stack of papers of different colors. Silently the Keeper of the Elysium produced a table from thin air, upon which Harry dropped the stacks of colored papers. The crimson red signified a minor favor. The green meant a moderate favor. The yellow was for the major favors. The silver meant a life-favor. The white papers were for the money lumps.

A box with a slit stood in the corner, so that the papers could be pushed inside.

"I will now start passing out the manifesto with the merchandise," he began, handing over to the Keeper a thick stack of papers.

The kindred began perusing the papers, silently accepting them from the Keeper. It took a few more minutes, before everyone was comfortably settled.

The Prince spoke first.

"Cedric Diggory," he began. "One minor favor."

Harry's eyes kept their cool as he was about to retort, yet in that moment the doors swung open and an unannounced visitor entered the court room with purposeful strides.

"A major favor," the man replied. "He is of good standing and fit. He has a career in the government waiting for him. He is also nearly finished with his education."

The prince eyed the man for a second more, before calmly showing his fangs.

The other man looked back with a bored look at the Prince, before turning to stare at Harry. "You have somewhere to be Infant…I will deal with the bids personally."

And so it was that Harry Potter nodded with _fright_ as he hastily made his way outside of the court.

He wasn't going to remain where two titans of old began their game. He knew that by the end of the night either Augustus Giovanni would emerge as the new de-facto ruler of England, or the Prince would. He suspected as much from the moment he had been warned to 'speak in the name of Augustus'. He could understand now why even Ambrogino was around.

He didn't have to like it, but he was thankful that in the bids he hadn't mentioned his own blood dolls or Hermione. This was a game he would be bound to lose, but still…

It was the only game he was entitled to play.

He stepped through the tube, reaching for the Leaky Cauldron with relative ease. The students waiting for him were all there, but he narrowed his eyes at the sight of Hermione still there with the rest of them. Susan and Lillian? He could understand really, but he knew a stern word would suffice. Nymphadora readying herself for the 'night' shift? Tolerable by his beast.

Hermione there? No. That wasn't tolerable _at all_.

He wasn't doing this out of some sort of misguided reminiscence of feelings. He simply did what his brain told him to do: Hermione had always been the righteous Gryffindor. She was his conscience, and he couldn't lose the talking cricket to the beasts that lurked the streets at night.

"Lillian: you're not of age, nor do you have my permission," he curtly snapped to the girl. "Go back."

Before she could retort, he turned his gaze to Bones and Granger.

"You two, could _you escort her and make sure she doesn't leave_?" the girls blinked, fighting off the impulse to obey but finding it irresistible. Within moments, Harry was left with the other students, the unimportant one he would not care the slightest should they…disappear.

"Hey, Harry?" Nymphadora asked as they began their tour of the nightly London. "Can we talk for a moment?"

"Once we reach the Gallery," he remarked.

Already he could feel the gazes of the hungry beasts pointed at them. He could feel the tensing of muscles in the people casually walking by. Probably ghouls, ready at the mere sign of their masters to begin the collection. Nymphadora didn't remain quiet until the gallery however, preferring to speak her mind out.

"I…Harry? I think we're being followed."

"By what? A muggle?" he retorted with a snort. "You worry too much, Nymphadora."

"I worry too much?" the Metamorphmagus queried back. "We're travelling through London, at night, with students who have barely been out in the muggle world before. Not that I don't trust the precautions with the ministry's Unspeakables tailing us," Harry rolled his eyes. "But really, I have a bad feeling about this."

"Like when you left me because 'death did us apart'?" he muttered back loud enough for her to hear.

"You had become a monster, Harry! I mean, really…I was scared, all right? If…If you had come back home only to find me sleeping in a coffin in the basement, really, what would you have done?"

"Certainly not freak out and try to _Confringo_ you."

"Excuse me! You moved the coffin aside and popped up like some sort of Dracula clone!"

"That's what they told me to do," he bickered back. "What was I supposed to know!?"

Nothing. Technically speaking, he hadn't been supposed to know anything. It had taken Severus Snape's contacts with the underworld to get him to New York, where he had learned thankful to Little Italy's immigrants and those who belonged to the Giovanni family.

Had he remained in Scotland and ended under the Dunsirn…probably he would be a filthy rich banker, but he'd also end up eating little girls as midnight snack.

"Maybe come out from the basement?"

"And end up burned by the sun?"

"Well, I think you would have made a wonderful ash pile," she snapped back.

They were passing through a park then, little to no-one going around that late at night, but the Gallery was just beyond it. Technically it was a safe spot; it was the perfect spot for an ambush, in truth.

"Oh yeah, really," he chuckled then. "Maybe I could have gotten you some allergy."

"Husband dusted, wife dies from allergy shock," Nymphadora giggled back. "Mages don't get allergies, Harry."

"Oh yeah," he shrugged. "We don't get them too."

"Duh, you're dead."

"Nope," he shook his head. "Heart is beating and all," he smirked. "Want to hear it throb?"

He tapped to his chest. "It's even singing a song right now, something about 'you broke me, and now I'm going to pay you back a thousand's fold' or something like that."

He smiled then as the students' crowd suddenly was parted by the screams of fright and fear. "You know the fun thing, Nymphadora?" he said then, his gaze wandering from the students falling on the ground to where the Auror was trying to get her wand out of her pocket. "You were right in fearing what I was," he whispered with a smile. "But you were wrong in fearing me," he added wistfully. "Now however…it's too late."

Nosferatu emerged from their shrouds of Obfuscation; Gangrels appeared from the ground with their hands firmly held on the ankles of their prey. A couple of Brujahs began to circle around the scared teenagers with their fists ready and looking every bit as the scary bully of films.

The wands were broken the moment they appeared, Celerity granting inhuman speed and reflexes to the kindred. The screams did not come. The mere split-second of frightening silence was more than enough to utterly quiet down the victims, who were all pushed on the ground and knocked out.

Nymphadora's own form was trembling as her wand appeared in the hand of a Nosferatu.

"For you, my dear," the Nosferatu —a female albeit the rotten form of its face didn't make it easy to see— handed him the wand of the Auror. "Terrible things happen at night in this park. They never stood a chance, against those 'Death Eaters' did they?"

"And those who did survive," he remarked, "will be found three days later, in a sorry state." His eyes, cold and unfazed, turned to Nymphadora. "All because an auror let it slip to her mother, who in turn let it slip to Narcissa Malfoy, who in turn told her husband." He shook his head slowly. "You see, Nymphadora…" he began to speak with slight hesitation. "This is why wizards fear the night."

"Because it belongs to us." Another voice entered the fray. "Which of them is mine?" the old Nosferatu asked. Harry pointed to a blond haired girl with pale skin and a frightened face. "Ah, I see," he began then. "A Malkavian would have offered you more, for someone as special as her."

He shrugged. He had no idea what the Nosferatu was saying, but he wasn't there to understand the words of an Elder. He was there to do his business and profit from it.

"All is clear?"

"All is clear," the Elder remarked, dropping a slip of paper in his hand. "Be warned that what I know and what you will discern are different things of the same coin."

"As long as the coin changes hands," Harry retorted. "What matters the face it falls on?"

"Giovanni, always so close to profit they'd whore out their own mothers."

"Hey," he mocked being offended. "Mother's sacred, you know? Now on the daughters we might find a suitable price however," he chuckled then —empty and devoid of soul— as he watched Luna Lovegood being taken away by the Scholar of the Nosferatu. Luna just followed the ugly looking man, but not before turning her cerulean eyes on Harry and muttering.

"Nargles will rot your soul for this, Harry…I hope they kill you."

He rolled his eyes then, even though he had never heard such heat from the girl's words, he wasn't surprised by them…he'd have probably done the same, had he been the one whisked off by a Nosferatu. "Let them try," he chuckled again. "I think they'll die of hunger first."

In that moment Nymphadora's boot slammed against the female Nosferatu that had been holding her down, earning a startled cry from the vampire as the auror broke into a dash. Harry sighed and then, holding carefully onto the woman's wand, he pointed it at the running back of the woman that once had been his wife.

"Giovanni always pay their debts," he muttered. "Don't they?"

He grinned.

"_Crucio."_

And the woman fell on the ground in a heap of twitching muscles and spasms. She fell and tried to scream, but the silent Silencio cut off her voice and her cries of pain.

"My Unforgivables are a bit rusty," he wistfully admitted. "I was trained in them with Voldemort alive, but it's been so long since I held a wand in my hand." He flicked and Nymphadora's twitching form came barreling towards him. "You want to know what is going to be funny, my little Nymphette?" he cooed at her.

"You," he snarled. "Taking the fall for everything."

And then Nymphadora's eyes widened as the tip of her own wand was pressed against her.

"_Obliviate_!"

She fell on the ground like a broken doll, but it was enough for Harry to work on.

"I'll write to Lockhart later for the finishing touches. Who'd have guessed he was an idiot because he was a ghoul?" he muttered under his breath.

"_Imperio_," he added then to the Metamorphmagus. "Now follow me quietly."

"Wait!" a voice echoed in the night, coming from a beautiful raven skinned woman. "You!" she snarled then, turning on him.

"Me?" he replied wistfully as he looked from what was probably Zabini's mother to the boy being hauled away by a Gangrel. Oh well, that wasn't going to hurt him the slightest.

"We can make a deal," she pleaded. "He's…"

"You're still young," Harry chuckled as did the old Nosferatu next to him. "The deals are already made. Flaunting your title or writing your clan backwards means nothing. I made the highest profit from this. If your bid wasn't high enough, then it was your fault, Miss."

"You," her eyes shone red for a moment, but just as they did Harry merely gave his back to her. "Go now, Madam Zabini. Go and convince your husband to die somewhere like those that came before. Be the black widow you wish to be for all I care…but remember that the more you will live into this world," he murmured with his gaze glazed. "The more you will lose yourself to sin and vice and welcome darkness as your only consolation."

"We are creatures of the night," he spoke to himself as he walked away from the park alone, his steps taking him towards the safehouse of the Giovanni.

"We are not evil," he muttered. "We are not sinners." He whispered.

What he did wasn't wrong. He had done what any predator does. He had hunted, he had acquired and he had delivered to the Alpha in exchange of protection and a bigger share in the future, or a place to sleep and help. He knew the favors would not belong to him but to the Giovanni family as a whole, but he had achieved something.

With this small act, with this sacrifice to the hungry gods that were the Elders, he had achieved standing and knowledge.

And with knowledge, he would understand.

Once that was done however…

He sighed as he stepped into the back of the Italian restaurant held by the Giovanni's family. He walked to the small cot in the cellar, no lights or windows around, and then fell on it as he mentally revised the backstory to give.

Poor, poor Nymphadora…under Imperius and forced to commit such heinous actions.

"Sleep," he muttered to the witch who had been dutifully following him till then. "We'll make our appearance back among the wizards soon, but not yet…first," he mumbled. "First fake capture, and guess what?" he smiled savagely. "I will have the right to sire soon, for my extraordinary actions…" he chuckled once more, his eyes gleaming towards Nymphadora.

"A pity you will be needed alive. It would have been poetic justice."

He blinked again.

The night was still young, and all had gone without a hitch.

But he knew better.

He had made an enemy, as always, and as always he had to solve it before it became worse. Maybe give a hunter group a hint on where a vampire rested? Or the ministry of magic…

As the night went on, he decided.

The ministry it would be.

**Author's notes**

** .it for long-winded author notes. Blog is up also for writer-general chatter with reviewers.**


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